


The Oscularum Inflame

by Camerahead12



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst for days, Anxiety Attacks, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blood As Lube, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel Speaks Enochian, Dean Remembers Hell, Demon Dean Winchester, DestielFFPrompt, Dying Castiel, Emotionally Hurt Castiel, First Blade, Flashbacks, Hell Flashbacks, Hell Trauma, I reject your reality and substitute my own, Loss of Grace, M/M, Mark of Cain, Not What It Looks Like, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Rape, Raped Castiel, Sam Winchester Takes Care of Castiel, Shifter Dean, Sorry Not Sorry, Stolen Grace, The Author Regrets Nothing, Timeline What Timeline, You Have Been Warned, that just happened
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-02 20:19:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 87,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12733617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camerahead12/pseuds/Camerahead12
Summary: Dean opens the bathroom door, and quickly locks it behind him. He leans against the door, resting his head on the back it letting his eyes fall closed for just a moment. In that moment, everything is stilled. Everything is okay.. His angel isn't actually asleep in some crappy motel, because, ya know, angel's don't fricken sleep. Whatever is going with Castiel losing his grace, Dean is going to figure it out..





	1. Kingdom Come

**Author's Note:**

> _Kingdom Come, by The Civil Wars_
> 
> **Edit**  
> 'Ello, loves.
> 
> Firstly, I will start off by saying this begins the story prompt I got off the amazing Facebook Destiel Port group from my other half, JenSpinner. It started out with a lot of "gentle persuasion", but ended up finally becoming something I have loved doing. She has been amazing at helpful advice and huge boosts along the way. 
> 
> Secondly, the Chapter titles are song titles. I _encourage_ you to listen to the song while reading to get the full effect. ^_^
> 
> Lastly, I have posted basic triggers in the tags for anyone who made need them. Just make sure you realize this is a darkfic going into it. I do not sugar coat anything (where's the fun in that? ^_~) But I promise if you stick with me, it'll be a fun ride. And by golly, we will go down in this burning car of disaster together! Buckle up, here we go, loves.

The streetlights flashed across Dean’s face, as they drove down the never-ending highway. Castiel stares at the shadows across Deans face, caught in a half exhausted trance of thinking how strange it is that the darkness seems to be playing tag across this man’s face, and what the purpose of keeping his eyes open any longer, is. In the backseat he hears Sam’s steady snores turn into a groans, and Castiel finds himself shaking his head, looking away from the shadows.

“I trust you slept pleasantly?” Castiel asks, turning to look at Sam, who is positioned awkwardly in the backseat, to fit.

“Well enough, Cas, thanks. My neck fricken’ hurts, though. Must have been the angle.” Sam rubs it momentarily, then attempts to stretch in the confided space. “Ughh. My legs are killing me.” The noise he makes sounds truly inhuman. “Where we at?”

“I saw a sign for an exit coming up in a few miles for some town called Bloomington. I don’t know, some place in Illinois. About 400, or so miles away from Branson.” Dean glances at Sam in the review mirror, and chuckles. “Think we’ll stop there for the night.”

Castiel turns and looks at Dean, feeling his own eyes drooping, slightly. Castiel catches him giving a quick sideways glance, and sees his jaw tightening. He sighs, turning his head away. He knows Dean is disappointed in him. He is weak, pathetic, and almost human. He can feel himself growing more and more exhausted as the days wear on. He knows he is getting sick, but this type of sickness has no cure that he can possibly imagine. What good is a sickly-fading-angel to the Winchesters? Just another burden. And the brothers had so much already.

“..good with that, Cas?” Castiel doesn’t turn to Deans voice, instead places his forehead on Baby’s window.

“Good with what, Dean?” His breath fogs the window, as he speaks, voice deep, raspy, heavy with the threat of sleep. The cool of the window feels nice against his warm forehead.

“We’re going to find a place to crash, then grab a bite to eat.” He hears Dean adjust something, or fidget. Castiel is too exhausted to turn around to bother to look, and just sighs. “We’ll probably head out early tomorrow morning. We need to get to Branson and figure out what’s going on. My money is on ghost.”

Castiel hums a reply, and silence fills the car. Sam coughs twice in the backseat, then sounds like he’s trying to stretch again. An anger filled huff escapes Deans lips, and he starts fiddling with radio trying to find some suitable station, as Castiel feels the car turn on the exit. His eyes feel like they have weights pulling them down, and succumbs to the pull. Blackness greats him, as Enter Sandman blares on the background.

~ ~ ~

Dean parks Baby in front of some motel Sam had given him directions to, after they got off the exit. He runs a hand through his hair, turning to look at Cas slumped over, passed out, and sighs heavily.

“I’m going to get us checked in.” His brother says, climbing out of the car.

The sound of the door closing doesn’t even make the angel twitch, he notices. It makes him worry even more about what is really going on with Castiel. He hasn’t really had a chance to talk to him since the last hunt, but that had been about a week ago. Wasn’t really like talking, more like screaming at him to use his angel mojo on some demon behind him, and after he did he collapsed. He was hardly able to walk after that. It seemed he’d been steadily getting weaker and weaker. Hell, angels don’t even sleep! He’s never known his angel to ever sleep, and here he is, drooling all over his Baby.

A knock at the window snaps him out of his thoughts, and Dean opens his door. “All checked in, Room 8.” Sam holds up a key, and Dean steps out, shivering slightly as the cool November air hits his skin. Closing the door behind him, they walk to the back of the car, opening the trunk pulling out their bags to take inside their rooms. Sam shifts from foot to foot, casting sideways looks at his brother.

“What is it Sammy?” He asks, shutting the trunk a little too hard and turning around to face his brother. The wind blows around them lightly; skittering stray leaves are heard scratching across the parking lot.

“He’s asleep.” Dean throws his duffle bag over his shoulder, and gives Sam a cold stare.

“I got that, yeah. He’s asleep.” Sam rolls his eyes at Dean. “What do you want from me? I don’t know what the hell is going on with him. You have ideas?”

“Not really, but he hasn’t said anything to you?” Sam looks up at Dean with suspicious eyes. “After he ganked that last demon, he just..” Sam’s voice trails away, and he looks past Dean’s shoulder with a concerned look on his face.

Dean sighs, running a hand down over his face, shifting his duffle bag to the other shoulder. “No. We haven’t really gotten a chance to talk. Not like it’s something he can hide.” He glances to the front of the car where Castiel is sleeping. “But its late, I’m starving. Let’s just get Cas up, our crap inside, and get some food to talk this over with, hm?”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam nods, sighing, looking up at his brother, then back at the motel. . “You go wake him up, I’ll meet you guys in the room.”

Dean watches Sam walk towards their motel room, then Dean walks up to the passenger side door. He knocks on the window, waiting for Castiel to move. He doesn’t even twitch. Frustrated, he grabs the door handle, opening it, thinking he is going to give hell, and get some answers. Castiel gasps awake, half suspended outside the car, only to be held inside by his seatbelt.

“Wha-wha-what is going on?! Where are we?” He looks up at Dean with wide, innocent bright blue eyes. Deans breath catches, unable to stop staring, How is it Dean always forgets how damn blue those eyes are? “Dean?” Cas sits up, unbuckling his seatbelt, and proceeding to half step, half fall outside of the Impala. Dean, out of knee jerk reflex, throws a hand out to grab his arm, keeping him from falling over. Castiel regains his balance, standing up, Dean’s hand still firmly gripping his arm. He tilts his head, staring at Dean quizzically. “Are you feeling okay?” Castiel he steps closer to Dean, making Dean drop his hand from his arm, and his sudden closeness jolts Dean back from the angel.

“Hey! I’m fine!” He says a little bit too harshly. Immediately regretting his tone, seeing how Castiel’s eyes are filled with hurt. Dean lowers his voice. “Look, we found a motel and we’re going to put our stuff in our room, then go and get something to eat, alright?” He looks the angel up and down. It might be the darkness, but it looks almost like he’s sweating. Dean’s eyes soften, and he smiles a little. “C’mon. Let’s get you inside where it is warm.”

“It is rather..Cold, isn’t it?” Castiel whispers, nodding slightly.

Dean’s free arm goes under Castiels arms to help support him, and Castiel leans against Dean, his head slightly resting on Dean’s shoulder. Dean’s lips twitch up into a slow smile, pulling him closer. Castiel lets out a small sigh, wrapping his arm around Dean’s waist. Taking their time, they slowly approach the door. Dean ends up half holding him up, half carrying Castiel the short distance, stumbling with the angel. They reach their red flaking door, with a bronze 8 hanging lazily from it. Dean steals a look at Castiel, and can’t help but feel a tug at his heart. Castiel shivers, shifting closer to Dean, and his small fades. As incredible as these short moments of closeness can be, the harsh reality always has to come back around quicker than ever. Dean reluctantly pulls his arm from under Castiel’s arms, reaching for the doorknob, pushing the unlocked door open. Sam greets them, with a warming smile, busily fussing with something in his bag. Castiel slowly lifts his head off Dean’s shoulder, it lolling a bit, and his hand slightly lingers around his waist. He looks up at Dean, his blue eyes making Dean’s heart skip a beat. His eyes trace over the angel’s face, and he notices for the first time sweat glistening from his forehead. Dean’s face immediately drops into worry, as Castiel pulls away from his waist, and then begins to sway walking away from him to the bed. It leaves Dean feeling empty and cold. He shakes his head, shutting the door. When did he get to be such a damn chick?

“I think I’m just going to stay here and rest.” Castiel sits on the edge of the bed, looking at the floor.

Sam and Dean exchange looks, in which Sam raises his eyebrows just shrugs. Dean gives him an exasperated expression, then finally sighs, throwing his duffle back on the bed next to Castiel.

“Fine, but you’re not wearing that crap to sleep in.” Dean said, digging through his duffle back next to Castiel. “And you’re taking the bed. I’ll take the couch tonight.”

Castiel looks up at Dean, through his lashes. Dean glances at Castiel, pausing looking for a shirt. “Thank you, Dean.” Castiel smiles, slowly, eyes crinkling.

Dean could get lost in those damn eyes forever.

Sam coughs, walking over to the little motel table to set down his laptop. Dean shakes his head to snap him out of it, and goes back to digging through his duffle bag. Finding what he needs, he pulls out an old band shirt and some pajama pants, and throws them beside Castiel.

“We’re just going to some diner a little ways away. We can bring you something back if ya want? We won’t be gone long, Cas.” Dean plays with the motel room key, stalling by the door.

“Dean, I’m fine. I just need rest. You do not need to bring me any food back. I will be well asleep by then. Thank you for the clothing. I will see you in the morning, of course.” Castiel smiles at Dean, blue eyes shining brightly at him.

“Yeah, alright, I guess. See you in the morning.” He waves as he turns and shuts the door on the angel.

Dean walks up to the Impala, and gets behind the wheel, pushing the keys into the car. She purrs to life, and he pulls out into the road. He has felt Sam’s eyes on him this whole time, but has chosen to ignore them.

“There’s a diner a few miles down the road, got some good reviews.” Sam says.

“Sounds good.” Dean glances in the review mirror, no real reason. Just to avoid his annoying brother and his nagging silence.

Sam gives Dean directions, and they make it there fifteen minutes. They have to park a street over, due to only having on street parking. Dean was not happy. Luckily, they got seated right away. After they get seated, Sammy looks at Dean with questioning eyes.

“So, Cas..” Sam asks, putting down his menu.

“What about him Sammy? Hasn’t changed in the last 45 minutes. Unless you have come up with some magical cure not even the angels knows about. He’s still sicker than shit, and sleeping!” Dean stares at the menu, not really reading it. “He can’t even walk without hardly falling over!”

“Um..You guys..need a minute, or ..something?” Dean snaps his head up to look at a perky looking blond hair, blue eyed waitress staring wide-eyed at them.

“I’m going to take a piss. Order me whatever burger looks good, fries, no veggies! Beer.” Dean gets up, and walks away towards the bathroom.

Trusting Sam to order was probably a mistake, probably, but he can’t keep having the same dead end conversation over and over, with his brother in less and twenty-four hours. Obviously whatever is going on with Cas is something not even he himself knows. Without retracing steps, or research, he’s too tired to go guessing a bunch of “might be’s”, just to buy time. He wants answers. He wants his angel to not feel, or look like shit. He just wants something to go right for them, for once. Is that so much to ask?

Dean opens the bathroom door, and quickly locks it behind him. He leans against the door, resting his head on the back it letting his eyes fall closed for just a moment. In that moment, everything is stilled. Everything is okay. He pushes off the door, opening his eyes, walking to the sink. He leans over the sink, turning the cold water on. Filling up his hands, he splashes the water on his face. He looks up at his reflection. Someone older, with tired eyes, black circles underneath looks back. Dean huffs, drying his face off with his sleeve, then turns away. He unlocks the door, stepping out. He turns to walk back to the table, immediately bumping right into the blond waitress, whom is carrying a tray of drinks. Everything goes crashing to the ground. A few people that are in the diner clap.

“Oh! I’m sorry, sir! I should’ve watched where I was going!” The girl frantically jumps back a little, bending down to put some broken glass on her tray.

“Shit! Sorry, damnit. Let me help you!” Dean bends down, and starts gathering broken glass together.

Together, they get most of the bigger pieces on her tray, and most of the mess. He stands up, looking over at her sheepishly, rubbing his neck. She puts the tray on the nearest empty table, then attacks Dean in a hug. Her hands find themselves buried inside his jacket, her face buried in his chest.

“Whoa there! Hey. It’s no biggie. Listen. I’m sorry about the mess.” He pushes the girl back a little, looking down at her. She looks up at him, eyes almost as blue as Castiel’s. Almost. He swallows, mouth suddenly dry.

“Thank you so much, sir. Not many people are nice to me, like you.” She smiles, shyly, tilting her head.

“Listen, it’s not a big deal. I’m going to go find my brother.” Dean edges away from the girl. As he walks away, he swears he can feel her eyes on the back of him.

Dean sits back down, ignoring Sam’s raised eyebrows, closing his eyes and rubs his forehead. “Demons I get. People..People are crazy.”

Sam snorts, taking a sip of his water. “I’ll give you that much, man.” His nose crinkles a little bit. “Our waitress was fricken’ weird.” He takes another sip.

Dean cracks open one eye, looking at Sam. “Our waitress? The blond?” Sam nods. “How so?”

Sam shrugs. “I dunno. I made some sort of joke, and she laughed. But then she full out wrapped her arms around my waist, and hugged me. Something about how I’m super nice.” He shrugged again.

Dean went ahead and told Sam what had happened to him, and his interaction with the waitress. “Now, hear me out.” Sam starts. Dean glares at his empty beer bottle, wondering where the waitress is to get him another. “What if this is just how normal people act. And we are just too jaded to realize?” Dean just stares at him, wondering if it’d be totally illogical to just throw the empty bottle at his brothers’ head.

“You are just are ridiculous as that waitress! Normal people don’t go around throwing their arms around complete strangers, well, like that at least.” Dean angrily huffs, seeing another waitress he flags her over. “Hey, can I get another.” He holds up his beer.

“Sure thing, sugar.” She winks at him, taking his empty bottle.

Sam raises his eyebrows, tilting his head towards the waitress, Dean rolls his eyes. “Whatever. They’re paid to be nice, then!” Sam laughs, going back to sipping his water. Dean breathes a sigh of relief that the subject of Cas has just been dropped.

 

~ ~ ~ Sleep was coming in waves. The darkness would overtake him, and then all at once, it would spit him back out, leaving him, literally, gasping for air. Which is where he was, sitting up, clutching his chest, wondering what was happening to him. Castiel was soaked in sweat, and contemplating getting up and walking to the sink for a glass of water, when he heard the key in the door. He glanced at the clock, wondering if maybe Dean or Sam had forgotten something. It hadn’t been that long since they had left. Maybe they had forgotten something?

The door opens, and Dean walks through closing and locking it behind him. Castiel tilts his head, shivering slightly at the slight chill that sneaks in. Dean saunters in, tossing his jacket on the spare bed beside Castiel’s, all the while staring at him. He walks over the bed Castiel is laying in, and sits down at the end.

“Hello Dean.” Castiel says, pulling himself up sit against the back of the headboard. “Where is Sam?”

“Oh Sammy. He stayed behind..” Dean licks his lips, his gaze goes up and down Castiel’s body in an obvious sort of way, to where it makes Castiels cheeks blush. Something when he was his full angel self that would never happen.

“Well since I’m up, you can have the bed, I’ll take the couch. It’s no big-“ Dean, suddenly, starts to crawl up the bed towards Castiel, his bright green eyes fixated on his, then rests a finger across Castiel’s lips.

“I was thinking we could share the bed..” Castiel’s face reaches a whole new level of warm, not just from being ill. Dean slowly drags his finger down Castiel lips, making them come apart, and then trails his fingertips along his jaw line.

Castiel clears his throat, trying to compose himself. “Dean..” Dean smiles, dimples popping out, making him even more beautiful. Dean sits up, straddling Castiel now, slightly grinding his hips against Castiel’s. Castiel bites his lower lip, trying to figure out if this is really happening or not. Maybe his fever has just made him start hallucinating? Somewhere inside his mind, something is telling him something is wrong. He tries to shut it off. All he wants is Dean.

“Hey Cas?” Dean leans forward, pressing his forehead to his.

“Hmm?” Castiel closes his eyes, enjoying the closeness of Dean. His warmth. His scent. That stupid car smell, mixed with leather from his coat, and what is that other smell..?

“Still feeling under the weather? Weak?” Deans breath kisses across Castiels face. Something in the..tone was off.

“Still..the same, I suppose. Why do you ask?” Castiel opens his eyes, as Dean leans forward, putting either hand on the headboard behind Castiel.

“Excellent.” Dean whispers, his lips just a breath away from his, and he finds himself holding his breath, staring up at those bright green eyes, unable to react.

“Excellent?” Castiel’s eyes narrowed, and he moves his arms to push, whoever this is, away. But, Dean grabs them and starts chuckling.

“You see, angel.” Dean slams his arms above Castiels head against the headboard. Castiel flinches, slightly at the pain. “When I heard an angel was in town-a weakened angel no less-well, hell! That’s something worth looking into!” He tips his head back laughing, and then looks back down at Castiel glaring at Dean. “Oh, don’t get sour on me now, we were defiantly just getting to the good stuff! I’m still your little hunter crush.” He winks, leaning back down, nose to nose with Castiel, squeezing his wrists tightly. “Wouldn’t you just love to know I feel the exact same way? I’ve been _dying_ to do this for years, angel!” He smirks, as Castiel tries to pull his remaining grace for strength.

Dean leans in, pushing his lips onto his. Caught off guard, Castiel gasps, thrashing his body back and forth, trying to get his arms free, or at least loosened. Seeing the opening, Dean forces his tongue in, nearly gagging Castiel. Finding it within himself, Castiel summons the most of his grace he can, and rips his arms free. He pushes Dean off him, throwing him against a dresser across the room. Castiel throws the covers off himself standing up, thinking he needs to find the real Dean and Sam. Dizziness hits, and he grabs the edge of the spare bed in front of himself to steady himself, as his vision begins to spin and darken.

“No!” Castiel snarls, as his legs begin to become uneasy. “No! No! No!” He hears a soft chuckle behind him.

“Have I ever told you how utterly delicious you look in my clothes? Because, hot damn Cas. You look good enough to just eat up.” Castiel knows Dean is right behind him, by his voice. He knows there isn’t a damn thing he can do, anymore.

“These aren’t your clothes.” He hisses, letting go of the edge of the bed trying to walk towards the door and stumbling as the room spins.

Dean chuckles, grabbing his elbow and twisting it. Hard. “They are tonight. Just like you’re going to be mine.” Castiel tries to jerk his arm away, but to no avail. He is too drained from using what little grace he had left, along with already being weakened. He can feel it-humanity. Weak. Pathetic. Unable to do anything against, what he is coming to assume, a shifter. Castiel hears something slide against fabric, but closes his eyes trying to get the room to stop spinning, thinking of some way to get away. Dean yanks Castiel against his chest, and he opens his eyes, looking up at the green. Castiel’s mouth dry’s, as his stomach twists. Those green eyes belong to his righteous man he pulled from Hell. Those eyes belong to the one he fought beside for years, saving so many lives. He feels something cool begin to get wrapped around his wrists. He looks down and sees Deans belt being woven over his wrists. He pulls on the leather tight, and Castiel winces at the burn.

“You and I, angel. We’re going to have some fun.” He head butts Castiel, sending him stumbling backwards the backs of his knees hitting the bed, he falls over.

Castiel groans, and rolls over off the bed onto the ground. He tries to stand up, but with his bound hands and even his eyes closed, the darkness is spinning, making it impossible. His head is throbbing, his body feels drained of life. He hears a zipper, and opens his eyes, looking up over towards the noise. He sees Dean shirtless, slowly shimming out of his pants and boxers. His smile curves into a dangerous smirk.

“Enjoying the show?” Dean kicks away the jeans, and walks over to Castiel, pathetically splayed out on the ground. “Oh, I know you did.” Castiel pulls both his legs back, and aims for Dean’s knees. Dean laughs, and steps aside easily. “Into that kind of Foreplay? You’re such a kinky fucker.” He winks, reaching down grabbing Castiel’s wrists, yanking him up, and tossing him back onto the bed, easily.

“Fuck you! They’re going to come back and kill you!” Castiel spits out, trying to roll away, only to be stopped by a hand pushing down on his chest. His hands, though bound, swing and hit pointlessly at his hand. Like a gnat. A pathetic, human. Weak.

“Now, now, angel. You hurt my feelings. You think I haven’t set up some sort plan in all this.” Dean leans over Castiel, his other hand hovers over Castiel’s stomach. “I’ve thought of everything. I’ve taken the car, stealing the keys from Dean was actually relatively easy.” He licks his lips. “As well as the motel key.” His eyes glint with humor. “And now I have you.” His hand rests on the top of the pajama bottoms, fingers sliding under the top ever so slightly. His fingers begin to tug the pajama bottoms down, and Castiel bites his bottom lip, hard. He digs the heels of his feet into the mattress.

“Fuck off, you have nothing!” Castiel snarls, reaching with his bound hands for the lamp beside the table.

Dean catches his hands, knocking the lamp off the table onto the floor, casting the room in awkward shadows. Dean twists his hands in a painful angel making Castiel scream out. Dean just laughs. “You’re worse than a human. At this point they’d just give up. You just don’t know when you’re beat, do you?” Dean rips his pajama pants the rest of the way off, and climbs on top of him.

Castiel glares at the fake Dean that has climbed on top of him. The shadows that the fallen lamp has cast across his face remind him, vaguely, of those in the car not too long ago. The similarity is too much, right now. Castiel feels his vision beginning to spin again. He squeezes his eyes shut, tight. Seconds later, Dean has gripped him and thrown him around, laying him on his stomach.

“Now, you’re going to be a good little angel, and just take it, until I’m good, got it?” Deans whispers next to Castiel’s ear, leaning down against his back.

An unexpected punch greeted the side of his face, sending black stars into Castiel’s vision. He groans, trying to pull himself across the bed with his bound hands. Castiel hisses as a sharp pain-abruptly-pricks the side of his neck. He tries to yank his body away, but hands hold his shoulders in place, and he feels a tongue, now, licking up from his neck to his jaw line closer to his ear. All the while, Dean is grinding into him from behind, fully hard. Castiel tries to push up, knocking the fake Dean off him. It is all pointless. He knows it. He is weak, useless. He can’t even save himself.

Dean laughs softly in his ear, slowly sliding one hand down Castiel’s body, wrapping it around his own dick. “I’m going to fuck you until you bleed, because you do that now. If you so much as try and fight me, I’ll make it hurt so much more than it needs to. Oh, and when he sees you, he won’t ever want to touch you, again. Useless. Couldn’t even save yourself. Pathetic. ” Castiel feels his blood pound in his ears. This can’t be happening. Why is this happening? This doesn’t make any sense?

“Why are-” Castiel starts to say, but Dean cuts off him off with another fist to the back of the head.

“When I heard you, famous angel who travels with the Winchester’s, wasn’t doing so hot, I thought this was it! I had my chance at revenge! Just to get back at them for all the shit we have to put up with.” Dean sits up, spitting in his hand, then rubbing it on his dick. “Oh but this.. In love with a fucking angel?” Castiel groans, trying to keep the blackness away, not focus on the words spilling out of the lips of man he yearns would actually walk through the door, right now. The darkness keeps spreading at his vision. He tries to sit up, again, Dean raises his fist, then brings it down on the side of his head. “Don’t fucking try and get up!” He spreads Castiel’s cheeks, with one head, and holds his dick with the other lining it up with Castiel’s hole. Dean spits down on it, and then pushes the head of his dick in. Castiel grits his teeth, hands fisting the sheets underneath him, trying not to focus on the burning. Dean continues thrusting, dryly, more adamantly, going more and more deeper. Castiel can’t hold back a whimpered cry that escapes, and he hates himself for it.

Dean pauses his thrusts, and Castiel hears Dean spit again, and feels the liquid hit his ass, slowly sliding down towards where Dean is inside him. Dean leans over his back, again, thrusting bringing his hand under Castiel, grabbing his flaccid dick. Castiel gasps, blinking back tears, and dizziness. Black stars dance around his edges, and he pants trying not to scream out in pain. But it _hurts_. It feels like his body is being ripped in two, from the inside out. It feels like its burning, Dean is the cause of the fire. But no..that isn’t right..

“N-n-n-no!” He tries to jerk his body to the side, trying to knock Dean away. Dean just laughs softly in reply stroking him, in reply.

Castiel groans, every feeling is wrong. Every sensation is too much. Dean is still thrusting inside him, and it hurts. It fucking hurts. He can hear the slapping of his skin as Dean hits his ass, and something wet mixed in there, that he’s trying to convince himself it’s not blood. Dean’s breath is tickling his ear, making his hair stand up on end. He knows it’s not _really_ Dean, but it _feels_ like Dean. And he _smells_ like Dean. Dean’s hand around his dick, oh fuck, he knows it’s wrong, but it feels so fucking good.

“D-D-Dean..no.”Castiel tries to covey his thoughts, but nothing really forms properly. He doesn’t want this. This is all wrong. He can’t stop this, and it’s tearing him apart.

“I-I knew you w-were a kinky fuck. I k-knew you liked it rough.” Dean sputters, quickening his thrusts. His jerks become more erratic, and quick. “You going to come for me, angel?”

Castiel sobs out a moan, unable to contain it, as he tips over the edge, coming, hating himself for it. His body is responding, purely on human instinct. His grip on the sheets tightens, and he hears Dean moan, then something warm pours into his ass. Dean collapses on top of him, breathing heavily. Castiel’s body is shaking with sobs, unable to stop. Dean rips out of him, and Castiel flinches at the sudden fresh pain. He hears the sound of what sounds like clothing being put on, but he can’t bring himself to look. The darkness is coming for him, and he’s welcoming it. Anything, just to escape this pain that’s screaming all over his body.

“Oh, and Cas?” Castiel forces his body turn on the side, flinching at how everything just hurt so much. His eyes barely open just in time to see the butt of a gun, right before it connects with the side of his head, and everything fades to black.


	2. Flesh And Bone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Flesh and Bone, by The Sweeplings_
> 
> 'Ello loves. Here we are again! Glad you decided to stick with me. I'm so happy you did. It means a lot. This story is going places, that's for sure. It's building, just bare with me.

“Where the fuck are my keys?!” Dean stomps out of the diner, after demanding to talk to their staff, he looks over his pockets desperately again. 

“Maybe you dropped them by the car?” Sam suggests, sticking his hands in his pockets, trying to warm them. He starts to walk towards the Impala. 

“And the fucking motel key?! That in there, too?” He snarls, shooting a glare at Sam, following his brother. 

As they round the corner where Baby was parked, Dean says just about every imaginable swear word known to man. Sam, calmly, pulls out his phone, running the gps tracker on the car. Moments later, his forehead furrows, staring at the location.

“Dean..DEAN!” He smacks his brother’s arm.

“What, Sam!” Dean glares at his brother, wondering what could be more important than his Baby being taken.

“Well, um, I put a gps tracker on the Impala.” Deans eyes narrow. “And I have some good news.”

“You know where my Baby is. If we hurry, we can still catch up with them. They couldn’t have even left town yet, I’d imagine. Who’s dying tonight, Sam?” He stares at his brother impatiently, fists balled tight, his nails digging into his palms. 

“It’s at the motel.” Dean stares blankly at his brother for a moment. Then reality catches back up with him.

“Cas.” He breathes, in a whisper. His mind goes blank.

“Did..did you ever find the motel key?” Sam puts his phone back in his pocket. “I watched you lock the door, then put it into your jacket pocket before you got into the car.”

Dean’s mind quickly flashes over the nights events in fast forward. The car ride to the diner, sitting down, eating.. No, no. There had to be _something_. What is he missing? He grabs his head and gives out a frustrated scream. Nothing makes any sense. No one knows Cas is even here, and even if they did, why would they want him? He walks over to some random car, that happened to be an older than dirt Pontiac something or another. He tries the door, and its, thankfully, unlocked. He jumps in, yanking down the wires, and seeing the ones he needs, he sparks the car to life. Sam opens the passenger door, sitting down quickly. Dean, as quick as allowed, peels away towards the motel. 

All at once, Dean gasps. It hits him. “The fucking waitress. She never came back.”

Sam looks at him like he has three heads. “Right. They said she quit. So what?”

Dean blows through a red light, horns blare around him. “She pretty much frisked you and I before quitting, Sammy. Think she might have been looking for anything? What conversation did she walk up on before that?” 

Realization suddenly hits Sam, and he has his mouth open in the shape of an “O”. His mouth finally falls into a thin, pursed line. “How long have we been gone, Sammy?” Dean glances over at his brother, and Sam just shakes his head. “How long have we been fucking gone since we ran into that waitress, Sammy?”

“I don’t know, Dean!” Sam runs his hand through his hair, sighing in frustration. “Listen, I think we left the motel about an hour, probably hour and a half ago. It was longer than usual because the waitress actually ‘forgot’ to give the cook our order, so we had to reorder everything.” Sam braces himself as Dean takes a turn at some ungodly fast speed; he’s surprised the car stays on all four tires. 

Dean clinches his jaw, ignore oncoming traffic, and pulling into the parking lot of the motel. He parks right next to his Impala, and jumps out of the stupid Pontiac. He notices his Impala’s keys sitting on the seat, and instantly the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end. 

“Dean..” Sam points to their motel room. The door is open, and they take off running towards it.

“Cas!” Dean yells, entering the room, frantically looking around.

Sam is right behind him, and he gasps as reaches the entrance. “What the f..”  
The first thing Dean sees is his angel. Bottom half naked, hands bound with..a belt? His eyes stray down to his bare half, and it looks like it’s, no..is that blood? Dean’s jaw tightens, eyes narrow in slits. He looks around the room quickly, looking to see if any threat might still be present. The dresser looks broken, somewhat smashed. Like someone was thrown into it. The nightstand by the bed doesn’t have a lamp anymore, that’s on the ground. The bed looks like someone fought for their, well, their life. The bed itself is speckled with blood, and hell knows what else. Dean doesn’t even want to go there. It makes his stomach sick. 

Dean crosses the room quickly, grabbing Castiel in gentle arms, trying to turn him onto his back. “Sam! Help me!” Sam is right behind Dean, and he grabs Castiels legs, while Dean has his upper torso, and they turn him over. Dean grabs Castiel’s hands, taking out his knife from behind his back, cuts through the belt. There are deep bruises already. Some of his fingers look broken, even. Dean lays Castiel’s hands gently on his chest, letting his own rest on his chest for a moment. He feels the faint rhythm of his angel’s heartbeat underneath his shirt, and it’s only half reassuring.

“Sam..” Dean looks at his brother with pleading eyes. This was way over Dean’s head. He didn’t even know what kind of monster got off on this kind of crap. None, of which he knew of. He can’t comprehend why the hell anyone would ever do anything like this.

“I..I don’t..” Sam looks down at Castiel, face torn, trying to piece together some sort of logic to everything. He looks away, then reaches over to the other bed, pulls off the unsoiled blanket, and drapes it over the angel’s lower half. Dean feels like it wants to throw up, or scream, or shoot something, maybe everything at once. But everything somewhat subsides faintly, not having to look at the blood, anymore. He knows it’s still there, but not seeing it on the bed or on Castiel, makes him not see want to punch the nearest stranger he sees.

“He needs a fucking hospital.” Dean turns back to Castiel, kneeling down beside him. He brushes the hair back from his forehead. Dean notices Castiel has a nice size lump and a welt starting to form on his left side. It was as if he was hit with something solid. Hard. A few times. His anger spikes again, only to be met with a wave of deep guilt. 

“I agree. But with his grace already failing, and being so sick.. and now this on top of it.. Dean, is there even coming back from this?” Dean keeps running his fingers through Castiel’s hair, his eyes starting to sting. This is _his_ fault. He left Castiel here alone. He wasn’t here to protect him. He _knew_ he was sick. “Hospitals ask questions. What are we going to tell them? We know why he was...generally sick.” Dean’s eyes trace Castiel’s face, noticing so many different sets of bruises, cuts, and marks. His eyes trail down his neck, and his breath stops as he sees the set of teeth marks that have penetrated deep in his skin. Dried blood is smeared around it, and the collar of the shirt has soaked up most of it.

“Cas, c’mon man. Get up.” Dean gently shakes Castiel, with one hand, keeping the other running through his hair. “C’mon. We’re going to get you a warm shower. Cas..” Dean’s head falls on Castiel’s shoulder, and his tears break through. “I’m sorry I left you. I shouldn’t have left you! Get up! Come on, Cas..” His hand grips the shirt he gave Castiel to wear tightly in a fist. He begins to sob, burying his head in his against the angel’s shoulder. He squeezes his eyes tight, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Dean hears Sam shut the motel door, and then his hand is resting on his shoulder. Dean tries to shake it off, gripping his shirt on Castiel even more tightly, his knuckles white. Sam squeezes his shoulder, but finally lets it drop. He hears his brother sit on the stripped, empty bed behind him as he tries to even out his breathing. He mind won’t let him think clearly. Behind his closed eyes, he sees Castiel laying on the bed covered in blood and…he doesn’t even want to fucking go there. He lets out a small unsteady breath, bringing his head up off his angel’s shoulder, opening his eyes, looking at Castiel’s face. His lips are split in different places, and his face is bruised deeply already. But his breathing seems steady. There is a layer of sweat glistening over his forehead; reminding Dean how weak he was before he left him. Bile rises in his throat, again, as he wills himself to let go the shirt, and lifts his body away from Castiel’s. Standing up on shaking legs, staring down at him half covered in the blanket makes his blood start to boil. 

“We need to get out of here, Dean.” Sam’s voice is slow, but firm behind him. “He...or they, know where we are. We need to get Cas somewhere safe.”

Dean nods once, unable to take his eyes off his angel. “Y-yea.” His voice comes out rough, and he tries to clear it. “You grab our shit, load up the car.”

He feels his brother brush past him, and hears him moving around the room. His eyes are still fixated on Castiel’s unmoving body. It’s all too much. He can’t put any sense to what has happened. Everything is just a stupid fucking repeat of unanswerable questions, an unconscious angel, and it’s all too fucking much. This can’t be happening, not to his angel. This pain Castiel must have felt-still feeling-Dean felt it. He would still be feeling. His breath catches, and his heartbeat pounds in his ears. Castiel rescued _him_ from The Pit. Dean gets a flash of memory of the pain he’s tried so hard to repress. The wall he has created to keep out everything from that time down there starts to crack inside his mind. His angel _smites_ demons with his bare hands. His angel brought him back from the dead. Dean remembers crawling up out of that coffin, breathing in dirt. Dean can’t even wake Castiel up. His angel _healed_ him. His angel can _heal_ himself. Why isn’t he _healing_?!

Dean grabs his head, and screams, roughly, falling down to his knees. He closes his eyes, and flashes of memories from The Pit parade behind closed eyelids. It all comes fast, slamming into memories with force. His wall he build so long ago crumbles to dust and fades away; just like his angel's grace. Dean cowers into himself as he swears he can _feel_ razor blades being drug across his torso. 

“Dean!” Sam grabs his brother’s shoulders, dragging him back up to his feet. Dean's eyes shoot open. “C’mon! We have to go!” Dean looks up at his brother’s face, trying to focus on the words he’s saying. Sam gives him a rough shake, knocking his body forcefully back and forth. “The stuff is in the car, lets grab Cas.”

Sam’s hands fall away from his shoulders, and he turns taking the blanket off Castiel, throwing it on the floor. Dean stares, numbly, as Sam pulls the pair of pajama pants Dean had given Castiel to sleep in, back on, as gently as possibly. He still doesn’t wake up. 

“Grab him, Dean.” Sam says, firmly, holding Castiel’s legs. 

Dean forces his body to move, and reaching under Castiel, lifting his body up. He watches his head loll back and forth, and it rips his heart apart a little more. Together, they move him into the back of the Impala, propping his head up on his bunched up tan trench coat. Dean climbs in behind the steering wheel, as Sam closes his door. He puts the key in the ignition, and Baby rumbles to life. He peels out of the parking lot, blowing through a red light, horns noisily replying their thanks. Sam stays quiet, eyes glancing from Castiel to his brother. Dean lets out another shaky breath, trying to focus on the road. His eyes continue to stray to the review mirror, looking at his angel splayed out in the backseat, unmoving. They speed south, into the darkness, unsure of where to go, or what to do next.

~ ~ ~

Voices.

But it’s not like his brothers and sisters voices in Heaven. No, this is different. This is low conversing, like a purposeful kind of intense quiet he cannot quite make out. Everything is silent on his “angel radio”, Dean would call it. Maybe that should concerned-Castiel’s eyes shoot open, sitting up going slightly dizzy again. Everything comes back suddenly. “Get away from me!” He snarls, waving his fist in front of him, only to be greeted by air.

“Whoooa! Hey.” Sam turns around facing Castiel with his hands up in the air. He stares at him with an innocent, wide eyed expression. “It’s just us, Cas. It’s alright. ”

“Sonofabitch!” Dean yells, swerving the car. “Cas? You’re okay, man. We got you. It’s going to be fine.” He glances at him in the review mirror, throwing on a turn signal to pull over.

Castiel grabs his head screaming at the onset of sudden pain, breathing heavily. He feels everything. **_Everything_**. From his head, to his fingers, to his ass. He remembers..He remembers everything. “Don’t..don’t touch me!” He yells, hoarsely as Dean tries to reach back towards Castiel. He tries to back up further into the seat of the Impala. “I want to get out. Let me get me out!” He reaches for the handle of the door, trying to ignore his stiff, painful fingers that are refusing to work quite right. He is pretty sure most of them are broken. This isn’t Dean. This can’t be Dean. The shifter took him, and has him. He has to get to **_his_** Dean.

“Dude, Cas! No!” Sam leans over the seat, blocking the door handle. “You can’t jump out of a moving car! Dean, pull over!”

“The fuck you think I’m doing, Sam!” Dean snaps, slowing the car down, throwing her in park. He turns around slowly, eyes locking with Castiel's.

Castiel stares at his bright green eyes for only a few moments, and then some sort of unearthly growl escapes his chest. He launches himself forward, leaning over the seat, his beaten and bruised body screaming in pain, fist colliding with the side of Dean’s face. Dean’s head is whipped back against the driver side window by the force of impact, but Castiel still advances. Dean tries to bring up his arms to shield his face, but Castiel keeps hitting and ripping them away.

“Cas! Stop it!” Sam throws his arms around Castiel, awkwardly, pinning him in a somewhat tight hugged like hold, pinning his arms to his sides. Sam drags him over the seat and out of the car.

Castiel tries to shake free of the hold, and only then realizes he’s been screaming. He stops, gasping, all of his adrenaline from moments before slowly starting to fade away, and with it, his strength. He stares wide-eyed at the cold ground, panting heavily, leaning over in Sam’s arms, going slightly slack. He hears Dean start to crawl out of the Impala, and his whole body tenses. He slowly looks up, seeing Dean rubbing the side of his face. He notices he didn’t even make Dean’s nose bleed, and the thought makes him hate himself even more. Pathetic. Weak. 

“What the hell, Cas!” Dean stomps over to him, glaring. Something flashes over his face. Some emotion Castiel is too drained to try and figure out. He feels Sam’s hold on him tighten.

Castiel stares up at Dean, tilting his head slightly. Sam is here, so it must be the real Dean. Logically, he knows this is true. But just looking at him, makes his skin crawl and blood boil. Castiel looks back at the ground, ashamed, remembering what happened. 

“Silver.” Castiel whispers, staring at his bare feet.

“What?” Dean steps closer. Castiel tries to step back against Sam’s chest. “Cas..” Dean brings up a hand to try and grab Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel doesn’t even realize he lets out a snarl, before he sees Dean yanks his hand back. “Get away from me!” He spats, trying to yank his hands free to get at him. He lunges at him, but Sam holds him steady.

“Dean.” Sam says, squeezing Castiel even more so. “Get the silver knife. Even weak, he’s still a lot for me.”

Dean turns away, walking in a rush to the trunk of the Impala. Castiel looks down at his feet, now uncomfortably numb with cold. Dean isn’t a shifter. He knows this. Deep inside himself, he really knows this. He is his Righteous Man. The same pure soul he pulled from The Pit all those years ago and they’ve been through more hell since then. Dean would never...Dean could never…

Castiel looks back up as he hears the sound of feet across rocky pavement. He sees Dean approaching them with a silver knife one hand, and his sleeve slightly rolled up on his other arm. He narrows his eyes at Castiel, then slowly drags the knife along his skin, face never wavering. Castiel watches the blood gather and drip in a steady line, trickling off the ends of his fingertips. 

“Satisfied?” He takes a step towards them. “Your turn, Sammy.”

“No.” Castiel shakes his head. “Sam doesn’t have to. It’s…It’s fine.” He hisses the last word, his nails digging into his palms. Nothing about this is fine.

Dean stops, standing in front of them, face blank for a few seconds. Castiel watches a look of horror fall upon it. “I…I mean, not me, but…” He stumbles backwards, his hand reaching back to brace himself against his car. Sam slowly lets his arm around Castiel, loosen and let go.

The sudden chill of loosing Sam’s warmth, his support for standing, and all the pain weighing in on him, Castiel begins to collapse. Sam immediately grabs his arm as Dean just stares at them with a look like he’s going to be ill. Castiel notices blackness edging at his vision again, and his heart begins to race again. The last time his vision did that, Dean was-No. He cannot think of it as Dean doing that. It was not Dean. He feels his stomach twist, painfully, and doubles over, vomiting onto the pavement. Castiel realizes the only reason he isn’t face first in his own retch, is because Sam is holding onto his arms, steadily, keeping him upright. His eyes start to burn as his stomach bile is the only thing left coming up, and he dry heaves. He blinks down at the mess, tears escaping his burning eyes. Castiel tries to spit out the rest of the taste out of his mouth, and attempts to stand up, making his legs move forward towards the car, away from his mess. He is stronger than this. He isn’t some meek human. He is an Angel of the Lord. He is a warrior.

“The…The shifter was me?” Dean stammers. Castiel squeezes his eyes tight, trying to ignore Dean, continuing to walk to the car with Sam holding his arms. “It…made you think that, I…”

“Dean, enough.” Sam looks at Dean with pleading eyes, helping Castiel back in the car. 

Castiel lies back down, flinching as his head finds his bunched up trench coat. Sam closes the door as Castiel brings his legs up to his chest wrapping his arms around them. He whimpers, pathetically, as pain explodes throughout his lower half. He only half cares that no one was in the car to hear him. He knows he should stay awake. Every fiber in his being is telling him to stay awake, but the blackness that was edging his vision is swallowing him whole. Castiel gives in, with a sigh.


	3. The Humbling River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The Humbling River, by Puscifer_
> 
> 'Ello loves. I hope everyone had an amazing Gobble Day! I had to work the dreaded Black Friday (retail hell). It was a blast, let me tell you what. Again, thank you for sticking with me on this, read tags if you are unsure. Let me know what you think, and kudos are always a plus! ^_^

Dean takes another swallow from the bottle of whiskey he’d stop to buy, after dropping Sam and Castiel off at some motel in Bum Fuck Nowhere, Illinois. He leans heavily against his car, staring at the dimly lit motel in front of him. He should go in. He’s been standing out here in the fucking cold too long. He should really see how Castiel is doing. This whole situation is screwed up. He knows Castiel is messed up over being so sick, and now…this on top of it. Dean takes a few more pulls on the burning liquid, pushing himself off his car. He sways slightly, only then realizing over half the bottle is gone. He closes his eyes shut, shaking his head trying to steady himself. He wishes he couldn’t see Castiel’s terrified face staring at him, branded inside his mind. How long has he been standing out here? Couldn’t have been too long. Well, maybe that isn’t true. It’s been long enough to where his body can’t feel the cold anymore. The fresh cut on his arm itches, reminding him of the fact he had to prove he was himself to Castiel, only a few hours ago.

_“You broke in 30...”_

Dean’s eyes snap open, bottle falling from his hands, smashing on the cement below him. His hand goes to his gun in his waistband, clicking the safety off and pulling it out, all in one smooth movement. He whips around, eyes wide, holding the gun out trying to find the source of the voice. _That fucking **voice**_. A cold wind picks up, scattering litter and leaves across the pavement. Dean stands there, a tremor running through his body. He laughs to himself nervously, lowering his gun, flipping the safety back on, tucking the gun away.

“He’s dead. Sam killed him. He’s dead.” He shakes his head, stumbling towards the room Sam had texted him was theirs. It’s impossible. It’s been _years_. He’s just drunk, exhausted, and today has been total crap.

Dean opens the door, eyes immediately finding a pair of wide-eyed blue ones staring back at him, from a bed. He closes the door slowly, slipping off his jacket, tossing it on a chair. He stumbles over to the couch, collapsing into the stiff cushions. He’s aware the blue ones never looking away, and shifts uneasily.

“You’re drunk.” Sam states, emerging from the bathroom, pajamas on, walking over to his bed.

“You’re observant.” Dean crosses his arms, looking up at the ceiling. The prickle of Castiel watching him somehow intensifies. “How are ya feeling, Cas?”

He hears Sam huff onto the bed, and get situated. Castiel never replies. Dean looks away from the chipping ceiling, over to bed beside him, where Castiel is staring at him with a look crossed between disgust and confusion. Dean’s mouth dries as he tries to find something useful to say. He licks his lips, looking Castiel up and down. Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean, and Dean notices Castiel’s whole body tenses. Dean tries to clear his throat; it comes out some rough cough. Castiel has on new clothes that must belong to Sam, because they are far too big, and his hair looks damp. The bruises are still growing darker, yellowing and purpling all over. Underneath his bright blue eyes is deepened black and blue, looking like he hasn’t slept in a week. Humorous, for angel, which aren’t suppose to sleep.

“Cas, listen-“

“Goodnight, Dean.” Castiel looks away, laying down, staring up at the ceiling.

Dean stares at his angel, his hands twitching to push him up off the couch, to move him closer to Castiel. To console him, maybe. Who knows? He’s never been good with this chick flick, crap. Instead, he sighs, throws his head back against the couch, staring back up at the ceiling. Sam clicks off the light, and Dean listens to his brother move around trying to get comfortable. Dean blinks up at the darkness, letting his eyes adjust. He watches headlights light move across the ceiling every so often, their accompanying highway car sound like a steady lullaby, he’s grown to know so well. Eventually, he hears Castiel’s breathing even out, and then Dean grits his teeth and hisses as Castiel lets out a whimper. His angel. **_Whimper_**? Dean adjusts himself to lie down, and stare over to where Castiel lays. He hears him mumbling. Heaven help him-no, screw that. He doesn’t need Heaven. Angel’s are a bunch dicks with wings. He will fix whatever is wrong with Castiel. He will fix this. Castiel doesn’t deserve this. He didn’t ever deserve to feel any pain. Dean clinches his hands into fists, listening to Castiel’s steady mumblings and whimpers.

~ ~ ~

_A dull, cold piece of rusted metal is shoved into his chest, and then pulled up, splitting him open, exposing a gaping hole. The metal twists inside of his flesh, and slowly slides out of him. Dean would scream, except that would be giving **him** exactly what **he** wants. Instead Dean grinds his teeth together as hard as possible, feeling his flesh being torn away. Dean tries to flinch, the hooks latched through his flesh pull in protest. Dean let out a pathetic cross between a whine and a gasp. A taunting laugh echoes in Dean’s ears, in reply. He has switched to something different, now, even a different location. He must be impatient today. A razor blade skims across the inside of his thigh; Dean feels a tickle of blood running down his leg. The blade continues up, closer to his dick. Dean closes his eyes tight, trying to brace himself._

_“What do you say, Dean-o? Today the day? Come off the rack?” Alastair’s voice hisses right by his ear. The blade pauses, right by his dick, digging into his flesh._

_Dean turns his face, spitting a mouthful of blood and spit onto Alastair’s face. The sudden movement leaves him panting as the hooks rip deeper in his flesh._

_“Well, I’ve got nothing but time.” Alastair chuckles slow, letting the bloody spit roll down and drip from his face. He drops the razor blade, and jabs two fingers inside the open wound in Dean’s chest he just sliced open. Dean’s head falls back, as he screams roughly in pain, feeling Alastair’s moving around inside him. Alastair jerks his fingers free, running them down Dean’s body to his ass, leaving a bloody trail on Dean’s skin behind. He pushes both fingers inside Dean. Dean tries to thrash, but the hooks tare and pull at his flesh, deeper. His eyes spill over with tears, and his screams burning his throat raw._

_“Somebody help me!”_

~ ~ ~

“-ean! DEAN!”

Dean’s eyes snap open, sitting up instantly. He’s drenched in sweat, panting like he just ran a marathon. He tries to get his bearings, looking around the room feverishly. The light is on, and his brother is standing beside him with a concerned look on his face. He glances over at Castiel, and sees his angel sitting up on the bed, knees brought close to his chest, arms resting onto top of his knees. The angel looks like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle, staring straight ahead at the wall. Dean buries his face in his hands, groaning. His throat burns in protest. Like he’s been screaming.

“Dude, seriously!” He hears his brother sit on the edge of Castiel’s bed. “What the hell was that?” He doesn’t want to look at him, but he knows he doesn’t really have any other options. Sam’s voice is spiked with worry, and he hates it.

“What are you talking about, Sammy?” Dean peers out at his brother through his fingers, trying to keep his voice calm, but it comes out too rough and cold.

“You were…” He pauses, running a hand through his hair. He glances back at Castiel. “Screaming. You were screaming, Dean.” Sam looks back at him with those damned puppy dog eyes. “’Somebody help me.’” Dean’s mind freezes, for a moment. His screams echo inside his mind, and now he knows why his throat burns.

Dean’s hands drop, and he stands up, glaring down at his brother. “I’m not talking about this. It’s nothing. It’s just this fucking day.” He waves his hand around, walking over to the bathroom in a few long, steady strides. He pauses at the door. “Go to bed, Sammy. I’m fine. It was just a bad dream. It’s fine.” He closes the door, quickly. Dean leans against the back of it, sliding down to the dirty, cold tile floor.

Dean sits there, for who knows how long. He heard Sammy click off the light a long time ago. He knows he should move, but his body just won’t move. His mind keeps replaying _everything_. That damn dream. No, it wasn’t a dream. He lived it. He was _there_. For 40 years he was in Hell. Alastair had done more awful crap than what he remembered in his dream. That had been pretty tame, compared to the other shit that had happened to him. His hand lifts up his shirt, and he looks at where Alastair had dug in the dull knife. There isn’t anything there. Perfect, unscarred skin. Like it never happened.

But it happened. Why he is remembering it all again, after all this time is beyond him. It doesn’t make any sense. Dean pushes himself up, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks terrible. Eyes slightly blackened, underneath, in need of serious rest. His jaw is bruising on the side Castiel decided to try and beat the holy hell out of him. His hand moves over to his upper deltoid, where his angel’s handprint is only faintly scarred. He traces Castiel’s ever fading fingers, slowly, and then his palm. He sighs, ripping his eyes away, opening the door and walking back to the couch. He sees the silhouette of Castiel still sitting up, among the shadows. Dean raises his eyebrows in question, trying not to think about it. He probably just freaked Castiel out way too much in less than a six hour period. Ninety percent of it, not even being him, really. He sits down, quietly, and listens to Sam’s steady breathing.

“You…remember it, again.” Castiel’s words sound forced. Almost like he is using all of his strength just to use words, with Dean.

Dean glances over at him, but Castiel continues to stare straight ahead. He refuses to look at Dean, completely. “I’m fine, Cas.” He breathes. His voice comes out smaller than he would like it to.

Castiel tilts his head, slightly, stealing a glance over at Dean. “You were…screaming…” He flinches like the words he is saying physically are hurting him. “Screaming for quite some time before Sam was able to wake you up.” Castiel’s voice lowers, and something about that deep voice calms Dean’s thoughts just a little. “I gripped you tight and rose you from perdition. I see-“

Castiel bites his lip, then hisses at the pain. Dean starts to get up to see if he’s okay, but stops himself, remembering what the “other him” did. He watches, instead, Castiel run a tentative hand through his hair, avoiding the welt on the side of his head. “-I saw your soul. It’s pure, Dean, good.” He glances over at Dean again, then quickly away. “I helped you build that wall that kept The Pit out.” Dean remembers. With help from Castiel, he helped him lock away his memories from that time. Which is why it doesn’t make any sense that they aren’t still up, now. “We…” Dean watches Castiel flinch and shiver at the word. “Share a more profound bound. I have seen what you saw. I know what happened to you.”

“You don’t know shit, Cas.” Dean hisses, trying to keep his voice low for his brothers’ sake.

“30 years…” His voice breaks, and his eyes spill over. “I screamed for 30 years.” He glares down at the carpet. “They sliced, and carved, and tore at me in ways until there was nothing left. And then, suddenly, I would be whole again. Like magic. Just so it could start all over, again.” He chokes out a sob. “30 years I said no. Then I couldn’t do it anymore. Then I got off that rack. God help me, I got right off it. And I started ripping them apart. I lost count of how many souls…things I did to them…”

Castiel slowly moves over the bed towards the edge, stiffly. Dean hangs his head. “They needed me to break that seal. To start everything, whatever, I know. It was forever ago.” Dean feels Castiel’s hand on his left arm, over his fading handprint, and slowly lifts his head.

Tears fall out of his eyes, as he finds Castiel’s steady gaze. “I…”Dean watches Castiel close his eyes tightly, his grip tightening on Dean’s arm. It’s almost like it hurts him to touch Dean. The thought makes Dean want to pull away. He might actually do it, it he selfishly wasn’t craving his angel’s touch so damn bad. “I pulled you out of The Pit.” Castiel opens his eyes, voice growing deeper. “You use to scream for me. I came when you called.” Casitel looks at Dean with such sad eyes, Dean’s heart feels like breaking, and he isn’t sure why. “I use to calm your dreams, so you could rest…I use to speak to you, in Enochian, when you’d call for me. I could see what you saw. I do, Dean, know what you know.” Castiel’s lips twitch into a slight grimace, then disappear as quickly. “I could see inside you, knowing everything…I only wish I could do so now, again. Healing everything. You don’t deserve to keep reliving the same hell over and over again.” Castiel stares so intensely into his eyes, Dean doesn’t realize he isn’t breathing until his chest begins to burn.

“Cas…” Dean’s voice comes out hoarse. He wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around Castiel, and bury his face in his neck, staying there forever. “Tonight… I just want you to know-“

Castiel pulls back, leaving Dean’s arm cold. “Stop it.” Dean snaps his mouth shut at the deep voiced command.

They sit in an awkward silence for a beat, knees just fingertip apart. Dean looks up at Castiel, though the room was dark, he could still make out the torn expression on his angel’s face. Dean could only imagine how much pain he was still in, and how much more would settle in tomorrow. He wants to take it all away. He would if he could. Castiel doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any of this.

“I’m going to fix this.” Dean whispered, watching Castiel’s face turn to him.

Castiel sighs, staring at Dean, searching his face. He feels like the angel is judging him, and he suddenly feels exposed. It’s almost as if Castiel is deciding whether or not Dean is capable or not to save him. Or maybe, if there is even Faith left in Castiel for Dean. Dean holds his eyes, unblinking in the dark room. Finally, Castiel turns away, looking down at the bed. “There isn’t anything you can fix, Dean. I’m broken on the inside.”

Before Dean even realizes what is happening, he is up and leaning over and wrapping his arms around Castiel’s neck as gently as possible. He is really trying to ignore the fact that Castiel has gone rigid. He runs his left hand through Castiel’s hair, trying to soothe him. His right hand hangs onto Sam’s giant shirt around his shoulders. His breath comes out in gasps by his ear, as he tries to catch it, trying not to cry like a damn chick.

“Cas, I got you. It’s going to be fine.” Dean whispers, pulling back from the embrace.

He only has time to see a momentary look a pure hatred, before Castiel grabs Dean by the shoulders, and throws him across the room. Castiel howls in pain, falling to the floor as Dean’s head hits the floor with a thud, a few feet away. Dean blinks as a bright light turns on, and he watches Sam run over, stumbling with sleep.

“What the hell is going on?!” Sam stands in between where they both are laying.

Castiel slowly stands up, holding his hands gingerly, scowling at Dean. Dean just lays there, on the gross who-knows-where-that’s-been motel carpet, staring at the both of them, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. He’s not even really sure himself. Sam, seeing he’s getting nothing from his brother, turns and starts fussing over Castiel, getting him back in bed, trying to figure out if he needs anything for the pain. Dean blinks up at the ceiling, trying to keep his eyes from closing. He’s beyond exhausted, but like hell if he is going back to sleep to relive old memories. He needs another damn drink. He needs to forget. Forget tonight. Forget the shifter. Forget the hug. Forget Hell. Forget everything.

Dean pushes himself up, walking over grabbing his jacket throwing it on. “Going out.” He closes the door behind him with a loud slam.

~ ~ ~

Castiel watches Sam pace back and forth in the small motel room, fighting the urge to bite his already split, and painful lips. It had been nearly morning when Dean had walked out, and now it was getting on towards late afternoon. He had still not returned. Castiel didn’t want to say what he was thinking out loud, because it might actually validate Sam’s thoughts. He assessed Sam might think the same.

“Damnit!” Sam throws his phone onto the empty bed beside the one Castiel is sitting on, running his hands through his hair nervously.

Castiel flinches as the phone hits the pillow, bouncing onto the floor. He watches Sam angrily go back over to the window, staring out into the bare parking lot. Dean could be anywhere, yes. Realistically, this isn’t the best time for Dean to be disappearing. He probably went to get black out drunk and passed out in his car. Castiel inches towards the end of the bed, flinching as his body waves with pain. His hands radiate with it as he tries to push himself up. Castiel hisses, knees buckling underneath him as nausea hits.

“Whoa! Cas! What are you doing, man?” Sam turns away from the window, racing over to help Castiel right himself on his feet.

“I just need to…I would like…” Castiel’s eyes dart to the bathroom. He leans against Sam, sighing heavily, trying to steady his legs. “Human functions, Sam. I need to urinate.”

Sam lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. “Next time let me know when you need to get up. I can at least help you to the door.” Castiel nods, walking stiffly into the bathroom. “Cas… Last night, everything that happened wasn’t really…I mean, Dean would never…” Castiel stares ahead at the mirror in front of him, looking back at Sam. He watches Sam run a hand through his hair-a nervous trait of his- looking anywhere but at him. “I just mean, Cas, I’m here. If you ever want to-you know, um, talk or something.” Sam looks up in the mirror, catching Castiel’s eyes.

“Thank you, Sam.” Castiel tries to smile, but cannot will himself enough energy to do so. “And I wouldn’t worry too much about Dean. He probably just drank too much, and fell asleep in his car. He will be back shortly.” He doesn’t know if he is trying to convince himself or Sam. He doesn’t even believe his own words, at this point.

Castiel closes the bathroom door, and quickly does his human necessities. He turns the sink water hot, and waits for it to warm. As much as he would like to think Dean could be sleeping it off somewhere, it is very unlike Dean to just go and leave his brother for this long of stretch after…Well, after last night. Had it really only just been last night? Castiel glances at his reflection in the mirror, and grimaces. He looks like hell. Face bruised, lips split, eyes deeply outlined purple with lack of sleep. Castiel tilts his head to the side, trying to see his neck better. The water has begun to steam, fog slowly creeping up from the bottom. His eyes lock onto the perfect bite marks, which have been throbbing on his throat for the past few hours.

_”Don’t get sour on me now; we are defiantly just getting to the good stuff! I’m still your little hunter crush!”_

Castiel doesn’t remember moving his hand, nor does he remember it connecting with the mirror. It suddenly just **_is_** , and he’s standing there, trying to catch up, blinking as blood is dripping down his fist. Broken pieces of mirror are spider webbing and falling down into the running water. Behind him, the door rips open with a wide eyed Sam standing in the opening. The burst of cooler air hits Castiel, knocking a new fresh wave of blinding pain. He pulls his hand away from mirror, more bloody glass falling into the sink. Sam rushes over shutting off the water, and grabbing a towel, gently wrapping it around his hand.

“What the hell happened?” Sam glances up at Castiel, leading him out of the bathroom back to the bed.

Castiel looks at the ground, unable to meet Sam’s eyes. There really isn’t a good answer he can give him. At least, not one that makes any sense. He is ashamed. He is human. He is a useless, weak, broken thing. Soon, the brothers will realize this and be done with him for good. Is there any coming back from this? He is impure now. Beyond that, he was unable to even protect himself. If he can’t even protect himself, how can he protect them?

They sit back down on the motel bed, and Sam begins looking at his hand. Castiel grinds his teeth together as Sam pulls out some glass that had gotten stuck. Sam mutters an apology, examining the hand closely, making sure there are no other pieces of mirror imbedded inside. Castiel could barely move it before, feeling pain when he tried. Now his whole hand just sings with pain. It makes his head fuzzy.

A familiar rumble of a car perks Castiel’s head up. Sam jumps up, quickly, running to the door ripping it open. Castiel slowly rises, wrapping the towel around his hand. His legs a little more steady, he stumbles after Sam outside. Sam stands there; glaring at the Impala parked a ways away, still running. Castiel feels the hair on his neck start to rise, not from the cold. Something isn’t right. Dean would’ve parked closer. He would’ve gotten out by now. Castiel’s eyes narrow as the driver’s door opens, and out steps a black Armani suit with a red tie. A scruffy faced is attached to it, sporting a contented smirk.

“Hello Moose. Feathers. Or, lack thereof.” He chuckles slightly, closing the door.

“Crowley.” Sam snarls. “Where the hell is my brother?”

Crowley picks at his fingernails, seemingly bored, leaning back against the Impala. “Ran into your brother this morning. Tried to have a conversation, but let’s just say he was less than…” Crowley looks over at Castiel and, smiles. Crowley pushes himself off the Impala, running his hands over the frame of the car he walks to the front of it. “… _Willing_ to hear what I had to say.”

Castiel feels his blood race, face growing hot from anger and shame. He stumbles onto the parking lot, closer to Crowley. “What have you done with Dean?”

Crowley’s laugh echoes across the parking lot. “Or you’ll what? Bleed on me? I mean, really, have you seen yourself lately.” He clears his throat, composing himself, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets. “Now, as I was saying, I did run into Squirrel this morning, but he really wasn’t in a listening mood.” He leans back on the Impala. “Though I did explain the situation.”

“What are you talking about, Crowley? Where the hell is my brother?!” Sam yells, unable to contain his patience anymore, crossing the parking lot fists clinched, getting up into Crowley’s face. Castiel follows Sam, determined to not let his pain show across his face. He will be of help in getting Dean back, whether it kills him or not.

“’Oy! You both are a bunch of bloody imbeciles!” Crowley shoves Sam back. “Did it ever occur to you I might have your sorry excuse for a brother here?”

Castiel narrows his eyes at the King of Hell. “And why would you go out of your way to talk to him, let alone drive him back here?”

Crowley straightens out his tie and suit jacket, dusting off nothing in particular, avoiding looking at Castiel. “Maybe we should have this type of conversation in a more private setting, eh?” Castiel feels his stomach tighten.

Sam walks away from both of them, opening up the driver’s door. Castiel watches Sam look around as he turns off the car, taking out the keys. “He’s in the trunk.” Crowley offers with a wave, walking to their motel room. Castiel turns and watches Crowley disappear inside the motel. Just the fact Crowley drove here with an unconscious Dean makes Castiel want to inflect great pain on him. Without questions first. He flexes his hand, pain shooting up his arm, and turns back to watch Sam popping open the Impala trunk. He hears Sam grunt as he fireman throws Dean over his shoulder, then they walk back across the parking lot together.

“This isn’t good, Sam. Anytime Crowley has ever come to us freely, it has only caused more trouble.” Castiel whispers, glances over at Dean. He is only slightly relieved that he looks unharmed, just passed out.

Sam shakes his head, walking into the motel room, laying Dean down on the closest bed. His brother murmurs in his sleep incoherently. Castiel sits down beside Dean, trying to catch his breath, hating that his body is winded so easily. His fingers twitch, begging momentarily calm Dean’s dreams, forgetting he doesn’t hold that power anymore. Castiel looks up at Crowley, focusing on the situation at hand, only to be greeted by Crowley staring back at him with a sly smirk across his lips.

“So boys, you happen to be noticing a recent increase on demons lately?” Crowley shifts his gaze around the room, looking bored.

Castiel looks over at Sam. Almost every case they had gone on, lately, whether they had thought it had been ghost, werewolf, witch, etc. ended up being a demon. “Almost…Everyone…”

“That’d be me.” Crowley looks down at Castiel, expression neutral. “Now, I am just in charge of the demons, I need you to know. We had a plan.” Castiel’s forehead creases. He doesn’t understand. What plan? What is he saying? Castiel looks over at Sam for some kind of help, and sees a look of confusion plastered across his face, as well. He turns back to Crowley, narrowing his eyes in frustration. “Abaddon has been growing stronger, no thanks you twits.” He huffs, glaring at Castiel, face breaking for a moment. Crowley sighs, and it immediately goes back to being neutral. “I tried explaining this to Squirrel here, but he was already far too gone by the time I got there." A slow, sly smile spread across his lips. Castiel's hair raises on his arms. But as quickly as the smile comes, Crowley drops it. "As I was saying, I devised a plan in which by containing and using your grace, I could kill and get rid of that wretched skank.”

It isn’t possible. To steal his grace. “It…” Castiel clears his throat, but his mouth has gone dry. Beside him Dean says something Castiel can’t quite understand. “Stealing the grace of angel is impossible, unless cut out.”

“Do you have any idea what Castiel has been through these last twenty-four hours?!” Sam shoves Crowley against the nearest wall. Castiel stares down at Dean, watching him begin to stir.

“Oh trust me, I know damn well what he’s been through. You brother made sure I knew full well what happened, before he hit his head on the bloody floor and knocked himself out cold. But, like I said to start off with, I am in charge of the bloody demons!” He leans forward, screaming in Sam’s face, shoving him away, once more. “I don’t rightly know how the hell everything became so fucked up!” Crowley shakes his head, sighing. “I send out the demons, tell them to focus on distracting you two idiots so every time Castiel here kills one of them, the spell here sucks in that grace, see? I’d dumb down the working parts of it, but neither have time nor patience. Regardless, it was all for the greater good, to get that bitch out of Hell.”

Castiel gives a half hearted laugh.“You have it, then. My grace.” He glares up at Crowley. “Use it. Kill her. Why are you here?”

“I don’t have it all.” He gives Castiel a pitiful look. “Neither do you, by the looks of it.” Castiel looks back down at Dean, listening to his steady mutterings. Anything to avoid Crowley’s eyes on him. The pitying eyes of The King of Hell isn't something Castiel can deal with right now.

“No...I used the last of it.” Castiel whispers, watching Dean’s eyes dance underneath his eyelids.

“Pity, that. I’ll just have to find another angel.” Crowley claps his hands together, chuckling. Castiel raises his head, glaring fiercely at him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Sam starts to advance at him again. “Oh, sod off! You-“

Dean’s hoarse screams cut off Crowley. Everyone stares down at Dean, who is now, back arched off the bed, screaming in pain. Crowley saunters over to him, tilting his head in mild interest. Castiel feels his hand on his shoulder, and he annoyingly shakes it off.

“I’ll be a son of a whore. He remembers, doesn’t he?” Crowley whispers, after a break in the screams. Castiel nods his head, as Sam appears beside Dean with a wash cloth.

“Dean. Wake up! Dean!” Sam gently starts shaking Dean, and Castiel rises from the bed, walking over to the far end of the room. Crowley follows him.

They watch Sam try to coax Dean out of his nightmares for a little bit. “Is it the only way? Using grace as a weapon against Abaddon?”

“I was always going to give it back.” Crowley sticks his hands in his jacket pockets, sighing heavily. “But, I do believe I might have found another way around this whole situation.”

“No.” Castiel turns his eyes away from Dean, looking down at Crowley. “Whatever it is, no.”

“You have no idea what I have in mind. Don’t get your feathers all ruffled.” Castiel glares, as Crowley smiles sweetly back at him. “Oh, and sweetie. You are dripping on the carpet.” Castiel looks down at the towel wrapped around his fist. Sure enough, its bled through, and dripping onto the motel floor.

Castiel looks back up to find Crowley gone, and swears. Of course he left. He should have kept a better hold on him. Castiel sighs, looking back over to Sam. He is resting his head on his brother’s shoulder, while Dean is still unconscious, face screwed up in pain. Castiel finds himself walking forward, approaching the brothers slowly. He places a hand on Sam’s shoulder, and he slowly raises his head looking at Castiel in question, his eyes wet with unshed tears. Castiel kneels beside Dean, hand falling away from Sam. His eyes trace over Dean’s face, quickly, trying not to focus on anything too long, then he bends over placing his lips to Dean’s ear.

“Ol bolape emna.” Castiel whispers, closing his eyes. “Elasa bolape sapah. Ol bolape erm elasa.” Castiel brings his arms up, wrapping them around Dean’s neck into an embrace. He holds him close, lowering his voice. His lips brush against Dean’s ear as he continues to speak. “OI ooaoana vaoresa elasa. En samevelaji coredazodizoda. Elasa bolape micaelazodo. Ol aziazor elasa.”

Castiel feels Dean’s body relax, and fall into his. He smiles, and begins to pull away. This is how he would calm, Dean, before. But, this would be the time where he would normally fly away to wherever else, so no one would be the wiser, but no. Instead, he is staring down to those beautiful green eyes staring up at him.

“How…How did you do that? What did you say?” Sam chokes out.

Castiel pulls himself away, standing up, shakily. “Enochian. Just words to calm him.” He smiles, sadly, walking over to the couch. Something like that.

He hears Dean groan, as he sits down, staring at the floor. He tries to piece together everything that had happened in the last twelve hours, and finds is mind going quite fuzzy, like static. He thinks it must be the lack of sleep, maybe. Castiel tilts his head at the bright, reddish, blob forming in the carpet beside his feet. He unwraps the soiled towel, staring at his hand, blood beading and dripping downwards. His head feels heavy. Too heavy to lift anymore, and it falls to the side. Castiel thinks he hears Dean’s voice, but he can’t be sure. It might have been Sam’s. He doesn’t really care, anymore. He turns up the static in head, and focuses on that.

 


	4. Hurricane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hurricane, by Fleurie_
> 
> Thank you, loves, for waiting so patiently! I apologize for the delay on getting this out! I had a death of a dear, dear friend of seventeen years happen right around Thanksgiving, She was a muse to me, and one of the only people to ever really believe my writing/myself was actually worth something. I kind of am just starting to function properly again. So, again, I apologize for the delay. The story is kind of taking it's own shape, now, and the plot thickens. I hope you love what it's becoming as much I am loving writing it.   
> Enough of this babbling. Enjoy, loves!

“So let me get this straight.” Sam pauses from his vigorous pacing back and forth in the small motel room, and turns to Dean. “You leave to go get drunk, Crowley finds you, fills you in on what is going on, and-“

“And shit just got bad, Sammy. Okay? We’ve been through this!” Dean glares at his brother, rubbing his temples. The food Sam had gotten lay uneaten beside him on the bed. How could he possibly think he could eat? His eyes trail over to the sleeping angel, who’s lying awkwardly on couch. Dean had been too afraid to touch him-let alone move him-and just draped a blanket over him. “I just didn’t think…” He looks back at his brother, and is met with an exasperated expression. He remembered wanting to deck that smug look off Crowley’s face. For Cas. For _**everything**_. But, somehow, he ended up on the ground. He was still foggy on those details. “This whole situation is just fucked up!”

Sam looks down at him with a sad expression. “It is. A situation we wouldn’t be in if it wasn’t for Crowley, apparently.” His gaze strays over to Castiel, and Dean follows his eyes. “But there isn’t anything that we can do about it now. Crowley has always been a sneaky bastard, I’ll give him that. He planned it out well enough. If…” Dean glances up at his brother, hearing him sigh.

“If only I hadn’t left him alone.” He looks back down at his angel sleeping, gritting his teeth.

“That isn’t it at all, Dean. This isn’t your fault. You can’t blame yourself.” Dean stands up, pushing past his brother. He grabs his jacket throwing it on.

“Where are my keys, Sammy?” He goes over to his brother’s jacket, reaching in the pockets.

“You’re going out again? Are you kidding me?! After everything that just happened?” Dean throws the jacket off to the side, and sees the keys on the table by the door. He reaches out to grab the keys, but is stopped by his brothers hand sliding in first. “No. You’re not leaving.”

Dean’s eyes rise in a glare to meet Sammy’s concerned stare. “Don’t do this, Sammy. I need just need a drink, and I’ll be back.”

“We need to come up with a plan on how to handle this. I can’t have you three sheets to the wind doing that.” Sam’s voice softens. “Cas looks like he’s been through a fucking war, man. We have to help him. _You_ need to show him that-“

“That fucking what, Sam!? That I didn’t rape him? That I didn’t beat the shit out of him? Because I didn’t, obviously, but it was still me to Cas! You know how fucking shape shifters work.” Dean pushes Sam in the chest, hard. His little brother stumbles back. “I can’t even fucking touch him without feeling like I did something wrong.” He runs a hand over his face, trying to get control over his emotions.

“We just need to talk to him! We just need to stay with him, and work this out. Come up with some sort of way to get everything right!” Sam walks back up to Dean, laying a hand on his shoulder. “He knows it wasn’t you. He knows you would never hurt him.”

Dean steps out of Sam’s touch, turning to look at his angel. He lay, unmoving, on the couch. The yelling hadn’t even stirred him. He didn’t want to admit Sam might be right; they did need a plan, but he needed to fix Castiel first. He had told Castiel he would, and was going to keep his word one way or another.

Dean turned to his brother, clinching his fists tightly. He knew what needed to be done. “Get Crowley here, now. We need to finish our little chat.”

 

~ ~ ~

_”Have I ever told you how utterly delicious you look in my clothes? Because, hot damn, Cas! You look good enough to eat up.” Dean’s eyes shine bright green, as if they are glowing, as he crawls across the bed, on top of Castiel._

 

He can feel something is off. “Those clothes…” Castiel’s words are cut off in a gasp, as Dean starts kissing along his neck.

_“They’re mine tonight. Just like you’re going to be mine.” Dean’s breath comes out hot against his neck. It sets his body on fire. He breaks out into an instant sweat. A sudden pain rips into his neck, and Castiel gasps at the sudden pain. Dean pulls back, smiling sweetly, blood dripping off his lips. “You and I, angel. We’re going to have some fun.” He leans down pressing his blood glistening lips to Castiel’s._

 

~ ~ ~

Castiel’s eyes shoot open, and his first instinct is to knock off the Dean impersonator off him. To fight. But no one is on him. He is unsure of where he is at first. It’s quiet and dark, and his mind feels foggy. He assesses he must have been asleep all day. He can hear people talking, muffled, somewhere. He sits up, stiffly; watching a blanket someone must have covered him with fall to the floor. Waves of pain roll over his body as he tries to gain some sort of steadiness. He glances down at his hand first. The blood soaked towel is still wrapped up around it, and he shakily begins to unwrap it. It sticks to his hand, and he hisses peeling the thing off him, tossing it beside the fallen blanket.

He stands up slowly, looking around the small motel room. The voices seem to be coming from outside. Castiel walks towards the door, slowly, trying to ignore how sore his body has become. Every painful step is a reminder of what happened. Of what Dean- _no, not Dean_. He shakes his head trying to clear it. Dean would never hurt him. Still, he can’t shake the memory of those green eyes and what the person they belonged to did…

The voices become increasingly louder. He narrows his eyes as he hears Crowley’s voice laugh, and swings open the door with a little more force than he meant to. He is met with a low chuckle from Crowley, and two startled brothers ready to engage in whatever may be coming.

“Sleep well, love?” Crowley smirks, leaning against the motel.

Castiel glances at Sam and Dean, who avoid looking at him all together. He looks back at Crowley who looks at him with a smug smile plastered across his face. “Why are you here, Crowley?” He wraps his arms around his middle, holding himself tightly, as the cold begins to creep over his skin.

“Why don’t you ask Squirrel and Moose here, eh? They requested my presence.” Castiel tilts his head, eyes darting back over to the boys. “Though, I will say we make a great team. With our powers combined, and all that.” Crowley pushes himself off the motel, sticking his hands in his jacket. “Or lack thereof.”

“You sonofabitch!” Dean starts forward at Crowley, but Sam catches him, locking his arms around Dean in a hold. “This is your damn fault!”

“Dean! No!” Sam huffs holding a thrashing Dean in his arms. “We need him!”

“Need him for what?” Castiel asks, raising his voice. He looks back and forth between everyone. “What is going on? Dean?”

Castiel watches as Dean instantly stills. He still won’t take his eyes off Crowley. Sam lets go of him, slowly letting his arms fall away. Castiel notices as Sam hovers close. Castiel shifts his weight, rubbing his arms to try and warm them absentmindedly. Dean glances over at him, and his face hardens even more.

“Crowley has another idea on how to get rid of Abaddon. We can get your grace back, after I help Crowley get what he needs.” Dean turns to Castiel, avoiding his eyes. “He needs The First Blade. He said it kills Knights of Hell.”

“No. Dean, you are not doing this.” Castiel turns to Crowley. “If my grace is no longer of use to you, just return it. I can be of far better use to you with it. We will help you regardless. This is unnecessary; Abaddon needs to be taken care of.” He cannot help the growl that escapes his lips. “The First Blade…Does he even know what you’re asking?”

“Dean here already accepted my offer.” Crowley walks up to Dean, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Isn’t that right?”

Dean turns his head away from Castiel. “I said I would fix this, Cas. I’m going to fix this. I’m going to get back your grace.”

“Dean, you don’t know what you have agreed to!” Dean looks up at him, and Castiel takes a step towards him his blue eyes looking into his green eyes, pleading. “There has to be another way. There is always another way. You told me that.”

“As touching as the two of you truly are, time is of the essence.” Crowley brings up his opposite hand to snap his fingers, his smirk firmly in place. He nods to Sam. “Be in touch, Moose.”

Before Castiel can take another step, they are gone.

Sam runs a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. “Do you have _any_ idea what you have agreed to?” Castiel hisses, stepping up into Sam’s personal space.

Sam stares down at Castiel, wide-eyed. “Cas…” He steps back, regaining his composer, and shakes his head. “It’s cold out here. Let’s go inside where it’s warm, and we will talk about this.”

Castiel turns around abruptly on his heel, and storms back into the motel room. He hears Sam closing the door, as he falls onto the couch, unable to cover the whimper that escapes his lips. He glares up at Sam, as he walks slowly over towards him. He clinches his jaw, trying to calm his anger. This isn’t Sam’s fault, and he knows this. The fact that the brothers- _Dean_ -agreed to help Crowley get The Blade, without actually understanding what they were getting themselves into, enrages him. The thought that they didn’t even think to consult him doesn’t surprise him. Why would they, honestly? All he is a burden to them now. Another reason they have to endanger themselves, further.

He rolls his shoulders back, trying to ignore how painful the movement is. “What did Crowley tell you?”

Sam sighs, again. “He offered us a deal.” Sam throws up his hands in the air, the calm finally breaking. “I told him to wait, Cas! I told him it was a shitty idea! This whole entire situation is just all around screwed up.”

Castiel voice comes out low and rough. “What did Dean do, Sam? What did Crowley say?”

Sam looks down at Castiel with sad “puppy dog eyes”, as Dean calls them. Castiel has to resist the urge to shake the brother, knowing all it would cause is pain on him. Sam finally sits on the bed across from him, and shifts nervously, sighing again. “Dean wanted to meet with Crowley to make some sort of deal to get your grace back. So we called him here.” Sam’s eyes quickly look Castiel up and down. “You were out cold, man. We didn’t want to wake you up, you looked like you needed the rest. Hell, you look like you need a month’s worth of sleep.” Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “But nothing was waking you up, anyway.” He opens his eyes, looking sheepishly over to the side at the motel room wall.

Castiel narrows his eyes at Sam, cocking his head to the side. “I don’t understand. Dean proceeded so adamantly to make a deal because I was sleeping?”

Sam lets out a forced laugh. “Dean…He blames himself for what happened to you. He thinks it’s his responsibility to make this right. To get your grace back.” Sam shrugs, looking back towards Castiel. “Crowley got here, and he told us a little about what Abaddon has been doing. She’s taken over Hell, kicked Crowley out pretty much. She’s making new demons for her new army by removing human souls.” Sam shudders, chewing on his lip bottom lip.

“It isn’t Dean’s responsibility to fix me.” Castiel sits up taller, ignoring his body screaming in protest. “Nor is it yours. This is my problem, and I will fix it.”

“You two…Unbelievable, I swear.” Sam rolls his eyes at the angel, chuckling. “When are you going to get it through your head that you’re family, Cas? Anyone who hurts you hurts us. We have your back whether you want it or not. Haven’t you figured that out yet? You’re kinda stuck with us.”

Castiel stares at the smiling Winchester in front of him, trying to make sense of the words. As much as he wanted to fold into those words, he knew he couldn’t trust it. Yes, they’d been through literal Hell for each other over the years, but he’d always been able to help them in some way or another. Now, he was completely unable to use his powers. They wouldn’t keep him around much longer, he was sure of it. Especially after last night, it was only a matter of time.

It still didn’t answer any of his real questions, though. “You two thought it was best to ask Crowley for help.” He doesn’t ask Sam. He states it. Almost like he needed to hear himself say the words that Dean had chosen Crowley’s help instead of waiting to talk to him about it, first.

“Crowley told us that there was another way to kill Abaddon, but he needed help finding what he needed. Dean told him he’d help him find whatever he needed, as long as you got your grace back in exchange.” Castiel notices Sam clinch his jaw, another tick he picked up on to show him when Sam was lying, or not telling him everything. “Dean jumped at the chance, naturally. Told him he’d do it-help Crowley. I tried telling him we needed to wait, do some reading up on this whole thing, figure out what, exactly, we were getting ourselves into. Research deeper into it” Sam chews on his bottom lip a beat, and then gives a shrug.

“The First Blade is the only instrument able to kill a Knight of Hell.” Castiel’s words slip out between his lips in a low hiss. “Did Crowley explain that The Blade only works with the person who carries The Mark?”

Sam’s eyes narrow. “The Mark? The Mark of Cain?” Castiel only glares at Sam in return. He watches realization pass over the young brother’s face, and it turns into a grimace. “Dean would have to…”

“Dean would have to be given The Mark by Cain himself.” Castiel squeezes his eyes closed. His head is beginning to pound. This cannot be happening. He brings a hand up to rub his temples, flinching as he touches his head.

“Dean wouldn’t…” Sam frantically reaches into his pocket pulling out his phone.

Castiel watches as he presses Dean’s number, bringing the phone to his ear. Sam’s leg is bouncing up and down, as Castiel stands up. He can’t just sit here, knowing Dean is out there about ready to make a stupid decision because of him. All because he was too weak to take care of himself, and he let his guard down making everything worse for everyone. He is the reason for this mess, and it is his mess to clean up. He will not let the man he fell for sentence himself to a life of torment for him.

“Dean!” Castiel looks over at Sam, watching as his body goes rigid. “Dean, listen! You have to come back! You have to listen to me. Crowley didn’t tell us everything.” Castiel hears Dean’s muffled voice over the phone, and then something like a yelp. “DEAN! Dean! What is going on?! What is that? Where are you?” Castiel grits his teeth as his fists clinch painfully. He needs to get to Dean. He hates that he is human-grounded- and cannot fly to where Dean needs him. He hears another muffle scream, and something like a crash over the phone. He watches Sam’s knuckles turn white at how tightly he is gripping the phone.

“Where is he?!” Castiel feels himself growl. “Find out where he is! Now!”

“Dean! DEAN!” Sam brings the phone away from his ear, and looks at the screen in defeat. “He’s gone. The line went dead.”

“Whatever is going on isn’t good. We have to get to Dean. Did Crowley tell you anything that might help us find them?” Castiel tries to keep his voice steady, but a sudden sense of foreboding suddenly hits him.

Sam shakes his head, standing up and facing Castiel. “They could be anywhere. They could be days from us.” He watches Sam run a hand through his hair.

All that’s left to do is wait.

Castiel looks away from Sam, and finds himself collapsing into the couch again. The creeping sense of foreboding is still there, tinted with a lingering feeling of rage. It was his job to protect the brothers, and he cannot even do that. Dean made a deal to get his powers back, but at the cost of what? Essentially, his life. His humanity. The one thing he has been trying desperately to preserve. He closes his eyes, hanging his head. He hears Sam sit back down on the bed across from him, and the quiet ringing tone from his cell phone. He must be attempting to reach Dean again. After a few rings, Dean’s voicemail picks up.

“I have to stop this.” Castiel whispers, voice breaking a little.

Sam sighs, tossing his phone off to the side of him. “ _We_ will, Cas. Dean isn’t stupid.”

Castiel shakes his head, biting his split and swollen lips welcoming the pain. It reminds him of all the pain he’s inflicting upon those he loves. He stares at the bloody towel still on the floor. A reminder of exactly how much control he has over any situation, especially this one. He knows his Righteous Man enough to know Dean would do whatever it took to save someone he cared for. Whatever the cost, his life be damned or not. It is one of the amazing qualities he loves so much about him. He just never thought he’d be the cause of the damage in his life. He was supposed to be the one person holding him together.

“We could try a summoning spell for Crowley? Have him bring back…” Sam’s voice trails off.

Castiel lifts his head, eyes focusing ahead of him, staring at the wall. He doesn’t respond. There isn’t a point. Sam is already getting up, and digging through his bag for supplies. Castiel knows deep down that all they can do is wait. The weight of his mistakes and failings cling to him like a lover as he rises to help Sam. He has to do something, no matter how pointless, so the weight doesn’t suffocate him.

 

~ ~ ~

Dean stumbles at the sudden change of scenery. He leans over, trying to let a wave of dizziness pass. He will never get use to being zapped different places. He hears Crowley let out a deep chuckle as he stands upright. They appear to be in the middle of some sort of wooded area, standing on a gravel drive. Ahead of them is a house surrounded with a white fence. The house has a light on in one of the rooms. It all seems relatively normal, save for the feeling of something…off.

“The Blade is here?” Dean looks over towards Crowley, whose eyes are locked on the house in front of them.

“Something isn’t right here.” Crowley takes a step back. “I feel something dark.”

Dean lets out a snort of laughter. “Darker than you?”

Dean watches Crowley’s jaw clinch, and he rolls his eyes. “We are here for The damn Blade. We had a deal. Is it here or not, Crowley?”

A rustling noise coming from around the house makes Dean focus his attention in front of him. He sees a silhouette of a person is walking towards them from the house. The hairs on the back of neck begin to rise. Dean braces himself for a fight. No one is going to get between him and getting his angels grace back.

“We need to leave here. Now.” Crowley grabs Dean’s arm.

“What? Why?” His eyes dart over to Crowley’s hand on his arm, then back to the approaching person.

“That’s the Father of Murder.” Crowley tries to tug Dean back, but he pulls his arm free of the grasp. “Cain.”

“Cain?” Dean’s eyes go back to the figure not but ten feet away, then back to Crowley. “Like, Cain and Able?”

“Crowley.” A deep voice behind them startles Dean and his hand twitches towards the demon knife hidden in his waistband. “Dean. Why don’t you both come inside? It seems we have some things to talk about.” Cain gestures to the house. He walks past them back towards it, leaving Crowley starring after him with a look like he’s about to be sick.

Dean’s eyes narrow at the retreating man. He doesn’t exactly know what he was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn’t an invite into his damn house. He starts walking, leaving Crowley standing there looking quite uncomfortable. He wants to get this over and just get back to Castiel. Whatever it takes, he is going to get that blade and make things right for him. Dean shakes his head trying to focus. He won’t let his angel down, anymore. He is going to earn back his trust. Show him that he can make this right, even if it wasn’t techinally _him_ that did the damage, he knows Castiel still sees it as _him_.

“I can’t leave.” Crowley whispers behind him. “Cain is doing something to me.”

Dean rolls his eyes, climbing up the front stairs into the house. “Figures you’d leave me here with the Father of Murder.”

“I’d, of course, have you join me. We have a deal, Squirrel.” They both step through the door into a homey looking living room. “You have no idea what we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

Crowley walks over to the couch, sitting down, fidgeting with his hands. Dean looks around at his surroundings. He walks over to a table where a glass container of sorts is full of nothing but bees. His lips twitch into little smile thinking about how much Castiel would love to see this. The thought suddenly turns stale, and his smile drops. Castiel can’t even be in an arm’s length away from him without a look of disgust plastered over his face.

“Cain is a demon. The worst of the worst.” Crowley says voice low. His eyes dart to the door way where some noise is coming from. “When he killed his brother, Able, he became a demon. He has killed thousands.”

Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. “He became a demon?” He glares over at Crowley. He doesn’t understand why Crowley didn’t realize Cain was here. “If he’s the worst of the worst, why haven’t we gotten anything on the radar about him.”

“He disappeared ages ago. Everyone thought him dead. I assumed so myself; at least hoped.” Crowley adjusts his suit jacket, eyes darting back and forth between the noise where Cain must be, and Dean.

“Bees are amazing creatures.” They both look up to see a normal looking man entering who’s holding a tray with what appears to be tea on it. Dean walks over to the couch and sits down beside Crowley. Cain doesn’t look or act like your average demon. “They are slowly dying out, though. Without them all of mankind dies with them.” Cain hands each of them a cup of the hot liquid. Dean takes his cup from the graying bearded man, and sets it down on the table in front of him. Cain sits down and meets Dean’s look with a steady, cold stare. “So what are you doing at my home?”

“How did you know who we were?” Dean ignores his question, prompting one of his own. He licks his lips nervously. He appears to be your average friendly neighbor; except for the fact he now knows Cain is a demon. Probably, according to Crowley, one of the worst out there.

“I am retired, though I still keep in the loop. I am not dumb by any means, Dean.” Cain eyes never leave Dean as he takes his cup taking a sip. “Now, why are you looking for me? How did you find me?”

“Looking for you? I didn’t even know you exsisted.” Dean growls at Crowley. “You knew?”

“A bit of a misunderstanding.” Crowley nervously laughs, shifting in his seat “We were, actually, looking for The-“

“Dean. Why are you in my house?” Cain’s voice is commanding, instantly shutting down Crowley. Dean looks down at his tea cup of tea, and back up Cain’s dark eyes never leave Dean’s as he sips his tea. He is actually impressed someone made the King of Hell shut up.

Dean coughs nervously, sitting up more straight. He licks his lips, again, trying to push past his waves of anger. “We are looking for the weapon that kills a Knight of Hell. The First Blade. We need it to kill a Knight. Abaddon.” Dean eyes shift over to a movement coming from Cain’s left hand. He watches the demon twirl a ring around his finger absentmindedly. Dean looks back up at Cain whose intense stare makes him feel exposed. Naked. He looks down at his untouched cup. He realizes he needs to pull it together and remember he is doing this for his angel. He clears his throat, looking back up at the unwavering eyes upon him.“Look, we came looking for The Blade. We didn’t know we’d be meeting you.” Dean’s eyes glance over at Crowley momentarily. “I didn’t know we would be meeting up with you, at least.”

“How did you find me?” Cain leans forward, setting his tea down. He folds his hands together, his stare bearing into Dean.“I won’t ask you again.”

“Crowley said he casted a location spell for The Blade. Not for you.” Dean narrows his eyes back at Cain.

Cain stares at him a beat, and then rises from his chair walking back towards the kitchen. “Does anyone else know you are here?”

Dean rises from his seat, walking after him. “No. Listen, we aren’t leaving here until we get that Blade.”

Cain turns to Dean, eyebrow raised. “You may let yourselves out.” Cain turns back away walking into the kitchen.

“Cain. Hey! I’m talking to you.” Dean grabs Cain’s arm. He watches as Cain slowly turns to him, the cold stare back in place, shaking his arm free. “I’m not leaving here without The Blade.”

Cain’s deep chuckle isn’t what Dean was expecting. It is unexpected and terrifying all in the same. “You live up to what I hear about you. Brave. So brave…” Cain tilts his head slightly. Dean’s heart skips a beat, as the simple action reminds him of Castiel. “But what spawns this bravery? Do you have any idea who I am, Dean? What I am capable of? I think if you truly did, you wouldn’t be so _brave_.”

Dean glares at the demon. He feels like he is being tested. Somehow, he knows that Cain already knows the answers, and that sets off so many alarms.

“Just give us The Blade. It’s not like you’re using it, Mister Out-Of-Loop. Abaddon needs to be taken care. She’s the last Knight of Hell, and that damn blade is the only thing going to stop her. You have no idea what kind of shit she’s doing.”

Cain stands up a bit straighter. “I trained her. I built and created every last Knight of Hell, Abaddon included.” He steps closer to Dean, dropping his voice. “And how do you think everyone knows it is possible to kill a Knight of Hell with The Blade? Who do you think slaughtered them?”

Dean’s eyes widen in realization. Cain turned on his own army. He killed his own creations, and doesn’t even seem fazed by it. “I.. -“ His cell phone starts ringing, cutting him off.

Dean digs into his pocket for his phone, seeing his brother’s name flash on the screen, he swipes to answer. He walks back to the front door, and lets himself out.

“Sammy, not a good-“ Dean pulls the phone away from his ear as Sam screams his name. He stands outside the door, staring back in the house through the window. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m actually-“

Dean feels someone grab a hold of his arm, spinning him around. He yelps at the sudden jerk of his body. A middle aged man with black demon eyes grabs his head, and slams it back against the glass window of the door, shattering it . Dean lets out a scream, dropping his phone. He feels shards of glass slice across his face. He brings his hands up, pushing away the demon. He takes the moment to push open the door, slamming it shut behind him, running towards Crowley and Cain.

“Demon.” Dean can feel the tickle of blood dripping down his face. He swipes his sleeve across his face, ignoring the desire to wince at the pain. “There’s one out there that got the jump on me. Probably more, knowing how they travel in packs. We need to get ready to fight.” The sudden thought that they zapped here passes through his mind, which doesn’t make any sense to why there is a demon knocking at the door. “How the hell did they find us, Crowley!?”

Before Crowley can answer, the door flies open. The demon that got the jump on him enters, with many more behind him. Dean lets out a growl, pulling out the demon blade from his waistband. He feels a trickle of blood from his forehead drip down, splashing on his eyelashes. He blinks, sending droplets of blood speckle across his face. He glares at the demons sauntering into the house. There is six of them, by his count.

“Well looky what we got here.” The demon taunts, smirking. “The old king and his pet Winchester.” He tips his head to Cain. “We are just here for them. I have a new master to impress, and she wants them alive.” He chuckles a little bit. “I heard what _you_ did to that angel. Shame he didn’t feel the same about you. You need to get those emotions in check.” Dean instantly sees red, and white knuckles the demon knife.

“Well, good luck.” Cain says, sounding a bit bored.

“What?” Dean turns to Cain, gaping at him.

Cain looks Dean up and down quickly. “You exposed me and my home. Years of staying clear of the dramatics and you two come into my home and within a matter of minutes, quickly destroy that.”

“Cry me a river, princess!” Dean tenses at the sudden nearness of the demons, stepping back a bit.

“You truly are living up to the talk about you, Dean Winchester. Brave….” A small smile splays across his face. “…but impulsive.” Cain turns away from all of them, walking back into his kitchen. “Should you survive, you are welcome to join me for one last drink before I disappear again.” Dean swears under his breath, and turns back to the demons who are slowly circling them.

The male demon from outside is the first to attack. He throws a punch at Dean’s side, to which Dean blocks. He counters, swinging his own fist up to connect with the demons face in a satisfying crunch, demon blade grazing across his face. The demon lunges at him, grabbing Dean’s collar of his jacket, throwing him into the wall. Dean feels his breath punch out of him, and he gasps pushing himself back at the demon approaching demon. He blocks another fist, and grabs the demon’s arm with one hand, twisting it. He plunges the demon knife into the demons chest, smirking as his life sparks out of him.

Dean pushes the lifeless body to the ground just in time to be met with a knee to his chest he tries to turn away from. He pushes the blond haired demon away and another male demon with a trucker hat grabs his arms pinning him back against the wall. The blond demon quickly joins them, and Dean is railed with a few punches across his face. He brings his foot up, kicking the female demon in the chest sending her flying back, falling over the couch. Dean grits his teeth, slamming his head forward to smash into the trucker hat demon. The action stuns him enough loosening his grip on Dean. He uses the advantage to free his arm with the demon knife still in hand, and drives it under his chin into his head.

He rips it out, and turns to the blond who is stalking close behind him. She pulls out a knife of her own, eyes flicking from the demon blade back up to Dean’s face. She closes the space between them, slicing at his chest. Dean dodges and pushes her away. She stumbles back then yells as she runs towards him swinging her knife at his face. Dean grabs her hand, and slams his fist into her hand, forcing her to drop the knife with a clatter on the floor. He spins her around, tossing her against the wall. He stalks up to her raising the demon blade, and is met by a foot to the chest. He stumbles back trying to catch his breath, glaring up at the blond who smirks in response. She pushes off the wall and moves towards him, again. Dean cannot block her swing quick enough and is greeted with a punch to the gut, and another to his face. He grabs her arm as she tries to hit him again, and spins her in front of him, ramming the knife into her chest. He tosses her to the side as her life finishes sparking out of her.

His eyes catch a small movement from the kitchen doorway. Cain leans nonchalantly against the doorframe taking a pull from a beer, watching him closely.

“Doing great, kid.” Cain says, taking another pull from his beer.

Dean opens his mouth to respond, but is hit on the back of the head with something heavy. He falls to his knees, knife falling to the floor in front of him. He is ripped upwards-feet barely touching the ground- to face a burly looking demon in plaid. The demon slams his fist across Dean’s face, and then is sent sliding across the floor back into a bookshelf. Books and knickknacks fall on and around him as he spits out a mouthful of blood, pushing himself to his feet. He meets the demon head on, kicking the plaid demon in the chest, then slamming his fist across his face when he leans over from the kick. The demon pushes Dean back, and he eyes the demon knife on the floor a few feet away. He steps closer to it just as the demon swings again, catching Dean’s shoulder before he can get away completely. Dean kneels to the floor swiping up the knife in one fluid motion, spinning around and slamming it through the demons throat. He locks eyes with Cain as he rips the blade out, demon falling to his feet.

Dean can hear another demon’s life end somewhere behind him, and Crowley mumble something about his suit getting dirty. Dean wipes his knife on his pants as he looks over at Crowley. The King of Hell holds his Angel Blade loosely, surrounded by three dead demons. Dean’s eyes fall back over to Cain, narrowing at the Father of Murder pushing off the doorframe and taking a step closer to the duo.

“I felt connected with you as soon as you showed up on my property.” Cain places his bottle on the mantle place, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You could’ve ended all these guys, but you didn’t. Was this some kind of test?” Dean snarls as his grip tightens on the demon blade.

“You and I, Dean. We are very much alike.” Cain leans against the mantle, eyes never leaving Dean’s.

“You and I are nothing alike. I didn’t kill my brother.” He growls low, pointing the blade at Cain.

“You’re right. You saved yours. Over and over again, you saved your brother. Why is that?” Cain tilts his head to the side again, and Dean feels himself almost overwhelmed with longing, and the intense reminder of who he is fighting for.

“You don’t give up on family.” His voice rasps. “Ever.”

“Why isn’t your brother here with you? I am told how close you two are.” Cain leans forward, wisps of hair falling over his eyes. “Or is he back with that angel you care so much about? Protecting him while you risk your life with a reason you barely know anything about.”

Dean lowers the blade and steps up to Cain. “Just give us the damn blade!” He hisses, restraining himself from grabbing him.

“Sorry Dean.” Cain turns away from Dean, walking over to the bookshelf that Dean was thrown into. Cain picks up a picture frame from the ground, and Dean watches him wipe something off it. “I no longer have The Blade.”

“What?!” Dean slams his fist against the mantle. “We tracked The Blade here! It has to be here!”

“How can it be gone?” Crowley asks, tucking away the angel blade. “The spell brought us here. To you.”

Cain’s eyes glance up at them briefly, and then go back to the picture. “The spell brought you to the source of the power.” He walks back over to the mantle, placing picture frame atop it. He turns back to them, and pulls up his sleeve on his right arm showing a mark of some sort.

Crowley steps backwards, almost falling over the dead blond demon. “That’s the bloody Mark of Cain.” He whispers.

Cain rubs The Mark, staring at it with longing. “Given by Lucifer himself.” He looks up Dean, still rubbing The Mark. “The Mark and The Blade work together. The Mark gives The Blade its power. Without The Mark, The Blade is useless. It’s just an old bone.”

Dean tries to work out what he’s just heard. What sticks out is that The Blade is a bone, that’s odd enough to wrap his head around. But what he is trying to grasp is that The Blade is completely useless without someone having The Mark. It would take someone wearing The Mark to actually kill Abaddon. Dean looks down at The Mark on Cain’s arm thoughts trailing back to Castiel. He gave his word that he would fix everything, regardless of anything that would happen to himself. If it means wearing that damn Mark, he would let it be branded into his flesh. It is fault his angel is hurting, and he would do everything in his power to ease that suffering.

“Bone?” Crowley echoes his thoughts.

“Jaw bone.” Cain drops his arm, eyes darting between them. “The bone I used to kill my brother.”

“Because he was God’s favorite.” Dean shakes his head, eyes lingering on The Mark.

“He wasn’t talking to God. He was talking to Lucifer.” Cain raises his voice, gaze resting on Dean. “Lucifer was going to make him into his…pet.” He spits out the word with heavy distain. “I couldn’t let that happen. So I proposed a deal to him. Abele’s soul in Heaven, and mine in Hell. Of course, Lucifer accepted, but only if I sent Abele to Heaven myself.” Cain deflates a little, and his voice grows quieter. “So I did it. I became a Solider of Hell.” His gaze breaks from Dean’s, and he spits out the last words with bitterness. “A knight.”

Dean tries his best to latch onto anything he has just heard. Everything he has ever known about that old Bible story is now washed away. Everything Cain did was to try and save his brother. If Dean put himself in his shoes back then, wouldn’t he do the same thing? Hasn’t he already? He has literally gone to Hell in return for his brother’s life.

“I’ve done horrible things; centuries of awful, dark, unmentionable things. I created more Knights, trained them to be the most evil, ruthless creatures the world has ever know...” Cain turns back to the picture on the mantle. Dean follows his look, and it rests on an old black and white photo of a woman. “…And then there was Colette.” Dean watches as Cain touches the picture softly, his eyes falling closed. “She loved me unconditionally-forgave me for everything I had ever done, even. But she made me promise her one thing.” He turns back to look at Dean. Dean stands up straighter, clearing his throat. He is finding it increasingly hard to swallow. “To stop.” Cain’s eyes harden, and voice raises back to his steady tone. “The Knights found out and took and killed Colette in front of me. So I picked The Blade back up.” A smile spreads across his lips, and Dean shifts uneasily. “It felt so good to have it back in my hands. I tore through The Knights, slaughtering them all one by one. I enjoyed every minute of it; basking in their death.”

“You missed one.” Dean points out the obvious.

Cain’s smile drops, and he looks down. “Abaddon…” He turns back to the picture. Dean notices Cain is twirling his ring again. “Tell me Dean.” Cain’s eyes glance at him. “If you had someone you loved, deeper than anything you’ve ever felt before, and they saved you time and time again from yourself. How would you feel knowing that was taken from you? How would you react if you heard terrible, unfathomable things were done to them? How would you feel if you lost them?”

All Dean finds himself thinking about is Castiel, and how broken his body looked when he walked into that motel room. The raw anger he felt. It wasn’t right. All the times Castiel had been there for him, saving him over and over again, and he couldn’t even protect him in return. He failed his angel, and now Castiel couldn’t even look at him. Dean cannot even touch him without reminding Castiel of all those _things_ that happened to him. It was all his fault.

He looks down, trying to calm his breathing and racing heart. He squeezes his eyes closed to try and gather himself, but only sees Castiel bruised and bleeding face. He knew exactly what he would do-is going to do. And he would kill anyone standing in his way. He won’t lose him. He is going to make things right, and earn back that trust that someone else stole from him.

Dean opens his eyes, and looks past Cain to the picture on the mantle. He doesn’t even want to imagine watching Castiel die in front of him, for good. Something tells him he wouldn’t be able to live without him, and that thought alone scares the hell out of him. He doesn’t understand it fully, but only knows that Castiel has somehow become _everything_ to him, save for Sammy. He has been his light in this bullshit world, and saving grace for his sanity. He owes him his life, and has never felt more at peace and alive than when he is with him.

Dean clears his throat, trying to find his voice. “Just give us The Blade.” His voice cracks, betraying his cold look he’s trying to hold onto. He looks back up to Cain.

Cain casts a hard look back at Dean, and shakes his head turning to walk away. “No.”

“Hey! I’m not done with you!” Dean walks up behind Cain, grabbing his arm and turning him around. He raises the demon knife up to his chest. “I need that damn blade, and I’m not leaving here without it. You may have given up killing, but I haven’t!”

Cain grabs Dean’s wrist and proceeds to push the demon blade into his chest. Dean stares at the knife imbedded in his chest, wide-eyed, mouth left agape. “You don’t stop, do you?” Cain smirks.

Dean looks back up at Cain, lips twisting into a grimace. “Never.”

Cain pulls Dean’s wrist back, pulling the blade out along with it. Dean looks down at the knife, stained with blood. Cain’s blood, but he is still standing in front of him. Unfazed. Dean looks back up him, as Cain nods his head slowly.

“I can give you The Mark, if you so truly desire.” Cain leans in closely to Dean’s face. “It may only be given to someone who is worthy.”

Dean steps back, looking Cain up and down.“What? You can just give it away? Just like that?”

“It can be transferred only if another person is worthy.” Cain repeats stepping closer to Dean.

“You mean a murderer.” Dean licks his lips nervously, eyes glancing down at The Mark.

“Yes.” Cain replies, eyes never leaving his.

Dean’s eyes glance over at Crowley, who is hovering closely to them, face looking anxious. “And I can use it to kill Abaddon?”

“Yes. But you must understand what comes with The Mark.” Dean looks down at The Mark on Cain’s arm. Cain dips his head to try and catch Dean’s eye. “A great cost. You need to be sure you are able to deal with the ramifications of your choice.”

“Yeah, yeah. Heard it all before. If it means I can kill the bitch, just give it to me.” Dean looks back up at Cain. “I made up my mind awhile ago.”

Cain nods, and holds out his hand as if to shake Dean’s. “I wish you luck, Dean.” Dean grabs a hold of Cain’s hand. It’s colder than he expected, and he looks up at him in surprise. “You’re going to need it.”

Dean shakes away any fear building up, and reminds himself, again, about the reason he is doing this. “Let’s get this show on the road already.”

Cain grips his hand tightly and spider web red lines begin to spread out of where The Mark is on Cain’s arm trailing down to their adjoined hands. Dean hisses as the lines slide from Cain’s arm onto his. It feels like fire running through his veins. He feels like his whole body has been set aflame, and he lets out a small whimper bending over at the sudden onset of pain. The lines collect on Dean’s forearm taking shape as The Mark, and the heat somehow intensifies, lighting The Mark up-branding itself on his flesh-then the light dies. Cain releases his hand, and Dean kneels to the ground gripping his arm.

“Dean?” Cain’s voice sounds strained.

“I’m fine!” He pants standing back up, wincing. “Where the hell did you put The Blade?”

“Nothing can destroy The Blade.” Cain looks over to Crowley. “I threw it to the bottom of the deepest part of the ocean.”

Crowley groans, running a hand over his face. “Of bloody course you did.”

“I had to keep my promise to Colette. I had to put it where no one would think to look for it, and far away from myself.” He places a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean flinches at the touch, half expecting it to be laced with pain. “You have to promise me something. When I call on you to come find me, you will use The Blade on me.”

Dean nods. Cain reaches out placing a hand on Crowley’s shoulder, and Dean opens his mouth to question him. By the time Dean closes his eyes to blink and reopen them; both he and Crowley are standing beside the Impala in front of the motel.

Crowley sighs, stuffing his hands into his jacket pocket. “Well, now that that’s all done…” He cocks his head over towards Dean with a satisfied smile across his lips.

The clarity of everything that has just happened hits Dean like a punch to the chest. Crowley knew exactly what was going to happen. He planned this whole thing. “You sonofabitch!” He grabs Crowley’s jacket slamming him against his car. “You knew we would meet up with Cain!”

Crowley lets out a bored sigh. “Of course I did. I’m Crowley. And I know you enough to know you’d do anything for that angel, so I played it to my advantage.”

Dean pulls him closer to his face. “You fucking knew he’d give me The Mark? You knew about everything?! You played me! This whole time you played me!”

Crowley grins up at him. “I needed to get The Blade and, let’s face it, Cain would never give me The Mark. This seemed the most fitting way to accomplish that. After all, no one can say ‘no’ to you.”

Dean slams him back against his car. His skin where The Mark lays begins to itch. “You’re a bastard, Crowley.”

“Sticks and stones, love.” He pushes Dean, and he lets go of Crowley’s shirt.. “Now, time to find Abaddon so you can kill that bitch and get your angels grace back.”

Dean’s fist slams into the side of Crowley’s face before he can process what he’s doing. Crowley stumbles to stay on his feet. After a few moments, he leans back against the Impala steadying himself. Dean’s breath comes out ragged as he stares at the King of Hell. All he can think about his wanting him dead for everything he just went through. For, ultimately, turning into a monster for no other reason than to be Crowley’s weapon.

“I promise you, Crowley. After I finish killing Abaddon and every fucking shifter in between, I am coming to kill you next.” Dean turns away from Crowley, rubbing his fingers over the itch under his arm.

“You think it’ll be that easy, eh?” Crowley raises his voice. “We will need all the help we can get to destroy her.”

Dean’s eyes fall onto the door of their motel room. He grinds his teeth together, pushing harder down on The Mark. He welcomes the heat rising to subdue the itch, and closes his eyes at the relief.

“I got you The Blade, now give me Cas’s grace.” He opens his eyes slowly turning around to see Crowley standing up taller.

“You are The Blade. You power it. Without you, it’s useless. How can I trust you to use it on that worthless slut if I give you back your boyfriend’s wings, hm?” Crowley’s face falls back into his smug smirk. “It’s called leverage, darling.”

Dean starts at Crowley again, but abruptly stops when he hears his name yelled. He turns around to see Castiel limping quickly towards him. His breath hitches as his eyes lock onto Castiel’s bright blue eyes which are full of worry. Castiel reaches Dean and Dean’s fingers twitch, yearning to grab the fragile looking man into an embrace. Looking him over, Dean is suddenly overcome with everything that has happened to his angel within just a short time. Dean licks his lips, noticing his angel’s hair is more messy than usual, giving it that after sex look he loves so much.

“Are you okay, Dean?” Dean watches Castiel’s eyes trace over his body, examining it for any real damage, he’s sure. He feels his ears grow hot at the intense look.

“I’m fine, Cas.” His voice comes out colder than it should.

Castiel reaches out, grabbing Dean’s arm forearm. He steps closer, invading Dean’s personal space. Castiel pulls his sleeve up, and lets out a low growl. He locks eyes with Dean.

“What have you done?” Dean is already overwhelmed with everything he just went through, and now his heart beats faster having Castiel actually touching him. He is standing so close Dean can feel his warm breath across his face. His cool hand gripping his arm is washing away the itch under his skin. He finds himself leaning forward into the angel. He did this all for him. He would do it all over again, if it meant saving him.

“Damnit Cas! I told you I would fix this.” Dean rests his forehead against Castiel’s, eyes never leaving his.

Dean feels Castiel’s whole body stiffen, but he doesn’t move his hand away from Dean’s arm. He hears Castiel’s breath come out more quickly and uneven. His lips twitch up into a smile as he pulls his head back, away from Castiel’s.

“It’s going to kill you, Dean.” Castiel whispers, his thumb running over The Mark. “The Mark of Cain is going to kill you.”

Dean turns his head to look over at Crowley, and finds him gone. He hangs his head, letting out a forced laugh. “He knew…He fucking knew what this meant, and…”

Castiel’s fingers slowly let go over Dean’s arm, falling away. “We can fix this. We always do.”

“I dunno, Cas. This time seems like I might have bit off more than I can chew, wouldn’t you think?” He winks at Castiel.

“This isn’t funny.” Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean. Dean watches him pull his arms up, wrapping them around himself. His angel is growing cold.

“No. No it isn’t.” He sighs, looking up into sky which was starting to grow lighter. “But I’d do it all over again if it meant having a chance of saving you.”

Castiel shakes his head. Dean looks back down at him to find him shivering. He glances at his feet, seeing he has no shoes on and sighs. It shouldn’t be like this. How did everything get so screwed up so quickly?

“I’ve accepted the situation. But I will not see you die. I did not save you just for you to die again.” Castiel never drops his intense stare, and it makes Dean shift uncomfortably.

“I got this, Cas. I’m fine.” Dean whispers, hoarsely.

Castiel narrows his eyes at him, and turns to walk away. “Your brother is sleeping. I don’t believe he has gotten any real rest since…” He watches Castiel shudder, and clinches his fist beside him, his nails digging into his palms.. “You and I, Dean…We are both not ‘fine’.”

Dean hears the double meaning in those words, feeling his stomach twist inside him. “Isn’t that the damn truth.” Dean whispers, watching Castiel limp back into the motel room. Dean glances down at The Mark, slowly following his angel back into their room. He would make everything fine, soon. He’d show his angel that. Death be damned, he’d fix everything.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hit me with some feelings. ~_^ Comments and Kudos are give me a high and keep me moving, let me know what you think.


	5. Blackbird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Blackbird, by Lee Dewyze_
> 
> Loves, Its cold. Like..Why is it so cold? Negatives is unacceptable. *shivers under three layers of hoodies* Why do I live in a place where the cold hurts my face? *whimpers*  
> Ahem, sorry.. That's my rant about life..  
> I'm loving all the love I'm getting back! It keeps me going!  
> Thank you all for sticking with me in this.  
> Here we go!

Castiel stares out the window of the Impala watching another stretch of flatland roll past. He has been trying to ignore the static charged tension between everyone for about a couple of weeks now. They’d driven through Illinois and Indiana, and were now somewhere headed to a town called Salem, Ohio. After uncountable useless attempts to summon Crowley, Dean turned his frustrations on trying to follow leads on shape shifters. Anything that remotely could possibly sound like a figment of one, they were off in that direction. Dean thought he didn’t know, but he was human now, not an idiot. He overheard the brothers in a heated argument one night outside the bathroom room door as his shower ended. Sam had been trying to convince him to focus on Crowley and getting his grace back. Dean was telling him how much of a waste it was.

His injuries were slowly healing, and functioning normally was getting physically easier. Nightmares still plagued him. He was usually woken up by Dean loudly stumbling in from wherever he had been, drunk to the point he barely knew his name; or he was awoken by Dean’s blood curdling screams. Sam had lectured him at first about leaving to go God knows where and doing God knows what. Dean had screamed back at him the first few days, but it slowly turned into him standing there in silence with a cold look plastered across his face. Now he just left after they found a place to sleep for the night, leaving Sam fuming with pent up anger and worry.

Ever since the night Dean had come back and Sam woke up seeing him with The Mark, the air had been thick with tension so thick it would take a mighty fine blade to slice through it. Castiel hadn’t been alone with Dean since that night; Sam was always hovering over him making sure his wounds were clean, bandages were fresh, or he had eaten that day. He knew there was more reason behind it, but he wasn’t going to push it.

After about a week of solid failed attempts to summon Crowley, they decided they needed to try to come up with a new way to get the King of Hell to them. Sam and Dean were at each other’s throats; Dean was rarely around after that, anyway. He would either stumbled in to whatever place they were at that night after he thought everyone was asleep, or he and Sam would wake up in the morning finding him passed out, half frozen, in the back of the Impala.

His fever still lingered. Castiel didn’t know if it was his nightmares that had him waking up covered in sweat, or the fever. He kept his dreams about bright green eyes to himself. Most nights that Dean actually slept in the room with them, he would wake up screaming with Castiel’s name on his lips in a prayer to help him. Sam was always up before he could even get his feet to the floor, shaking and coaxing his brother out of his memories from the Pit. It hardly ever worked.

Castiel tried his best to help Sam with trying to find out where Crowley might be. Mostly he just found himself staring off into nothing, trying his best not to succumb back into sleep. Sometimes he was lucky and only a gentle blackness of sleep found him, but that was rare. He would jolt awake, always, his mind immediately being drug back to that night. He hated himself for it. He wasn’t some weak human meant to cower in the corner. He was an angel meant for saving people and killing the monsters. Not to be overpowered by them.

Castiel sighed, breath fogging up the window. They hadn’t come across any monster or demon on the last few leads they’d followed. Everything ended up being a dead end, or whatever had been there, wasn’t anymore. It wasn’t like he had the opportunity to see any of this with his own eyes. He had to stay coped up in whatever sleazy motel room they were in while Sam stayed behind to babysit him, regardless of his insistent demands he go with his brother. They both felt the need to protect him, and Sam made up ridiculous excuses as to why he stayed behind. Castiel could easily see how restless and caged Sam was feeling. Hell, he was feeling it as well.

”What lead is in this place, again?” Sam’s voice cut through the silence and Castiel’s thoughts.

Castiel keeps his eyes fixed on the cold, grey world outside the window waiting for Dean’s reply. When he happened to look his way, it only seemed to intensify his hostility to whatever conversation was carrying on. He found himself flinching at Dean’s raised voice time and time again, unable to stop himself. His tone was like a vocal reminder of what had happened. The anger and hostility fed the nightmares, and now they were colliding with reality, clashing with the shifter who posed as Dean and Dean himself.

He hears the leather groan, which can only mean Dean is shifting, nervous about something. “For fucks sake, seriously? I’ve already talked to you about this.”

”I really don’t see how this lead is going to be any different to-“

”Shut up, Sam.” Dean cuts Sam off, and Castiel feels the car increase acceleration.

”Dean, seriously. We need to just stop, take a break and-“

”I said shut the fuck up!” Castiel turns to see Dean gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, glaring at the road ahead. Sam is glaring at him unwilling to back down. Castiel knows the brothers well enough to realize Sam is taking the only opportunity he has to corner Dean into talking. He narrows his eyes at Sam. He should know his brother well enough to know this will not end well.

”What the hell is wrong with you! We’ve been chasing bullshit leads that you know are nothing, and for what? The chances of us actually running into the shifter that-“ The Impala unexpectedly swerves onto the side of the road, stopping Sam midsentence.

Dean hits the breaks a little too hard, causing Castiel to slam into the back of Sam’s seat. Castiel hears Dean get out of the Impala before he can sit up again, Sam quickly following. He rubs his forehead gingerly, trying to figure out exactly how to handle this. He listens to Sam’s muffled voice yelling at Dean over the passing cars, and can see the brothers inches apart from each other’s faces. He is sick of Sam fighting his battle for him like some child, but putting himself into action means only angering Dean more. That would be even more difficult for everyone. His eyes narrow even more as he exits the car. His mind being made up for him, as Dean shoves Sam back into the hood of the car.

”Hey!” Castiel slams the door shut behind him, walking up to the brothers. This situation seems almost like a terrible déjà vu. _Almost_. “What are you doing?!”

Dean takes a few steps back from Sam, eyes focused on the ground. Sam pushes off the hood of the car, and Castiel steps in front of Sam, stopping him from coming any closer to his brother.

”Go back to the car, Sam. Let me talk to Dean.” Castiel watches Sam’s eyes widen. He can almost hear his thoughts screaming at him. He hadn’t been alone with Dean for weeks, and that was when he was less likely to take your head off. “It is going to be fine.”

”I’m not leaving you alone with him!” Castiel watches Sam nervously look over at Dean, who still hadn’t looked up at him.

”Let me handle this.” He places a hand on Sam’s shoulder and squeezes. “Please.”

He watches so many emotions fall across Sam’s face before he turns back to him, face falling in defeat. “Fine. But if he even-“

”I’ll be fine.” He lowers his hand, eyes falling over onto his Righteous Man. “He would never…” A forced laugh accompanied with a twisted smile from Dean is all Castiel tries to focus on.

He shakes his head, trying to block out his memories. His Dean is different. His Dean would never hurt him. He recites it every day to himself, trying to convince himself everything wasn’t real. His still pained body insistently brings him back to reality, though. Castiel hears Sam get into the Impala, and walks towards Dean. He is not exactly sure why Dean’s whole body has gone completely stiff at his approach.

”Dean.” He breathes out the name like a sigh he’s been hanging onto for far too long. As good as it feels to let the name fall from his lips he cannot enjoy the moment. He needs to figure out how things got so bad so quickly. Why Dean has so much animosity towards them.

Dean’s green eyes lock with Castiel’s blue as he stops in front of him. “Listen, Cas. I don’t know what you think-“

”Shut up, Dean.” He is done with everyone treating him like some unintelligent, weak, pathetic thing. He is done being the victim. “You are going to tell me exactly what is going on with you. Yes, I know you’ve been tracking shifters, I’m not as dumb as you think I am. But please explain to me what good, exactly, would come from this? What exactly you plan to accomplish by taking on the whole species?”

”I don’t think-“

”Sam and I might have come up with another way to get in contact with Crowley. Finding The Blade and taking care of you and The Mark is the only pressing thing right now.” Castiel watches Dean’s eye narrow as a car whips past them a little too close.

”So you’re saying you aren’t important?” Dean snaps. “After everything that’s happened to you-After what…” Dean runs a hand through his hair, letting out a growl of frustration.

”Crowley has my grace, Dean!” Castiel squeezes his hands into tight fists, ignoring the dull, throbbing pain. Dean’s glare is piercing, and he has to take a moment, looking away from those eyes to steady himself. “The only way to get it back is to kill Abaddon. Getting Crowley here with that damn Blade is the only thing we can do. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Not going off on a stupid pointless mission I didn’t ask you to do! Sam and you are acting like children, for whatever reason, and it needs to stop!”

Dean’s harsh laugh is full of bitterness. Castiel swallows thickly, shifting on his feet nervously. He doesn’t know how to read him, anymore, and it is unsettling.

”Yeah, you didn’t ask me, Cas.” Dean steps closer to him, and Castiel finds every muscle in his body growing tense without his consent. “It’s the only thing I can fucking do, instead of sitting around with my thumb up my ass, working on some pointless thing like trying to get Crowley here!” His green eyes search over Castiel’s face, and he feels it start to prickle with heat. “You two can have fun tryin’, but I’m not going to sit on my ass all day waiting for something that isn’t going to happen until that stubborn jackass is ready to show himself, summing or not.”

”Treating your brother poorly is not helping anything.” Castiel digs his nails into his palms, again, trying to keep his voice steady. “He loves you and is worried about you. You are hardly around anymore. I have no idea what transpired between the two of you, other than brief fights I overhear. You both are ridiculous about secrets.”

”How about you, hm?” Dean lowers his voice, and Castiel shivers in response. “Are you worried about me?”

Castiel opens his mouth to speak, but finds it has gone dry. He clears his throat, and licks his chapped lips. Dean’s eyes dart down to Castiel’s lips, and linger. Castiel takes a step back, nervously, playing it off like the car that just drove past surprised him. He remembers when he use to yearn for little moments like these. Now his body reacts on its own, putting it in a sudden defense mode if it has anything to do with Dean.

”Don’t you get it?” Dean whispers, stepping back into Castiel.

Castiel looks up at him, with questioning eyes, still unable to make his voice work. Dean raises a hand towards him, and before he realizes he is doing it, he flinches away from it. Castiel hates himself with everything he has in that moment. He knows he isn’t afraid of Dean. He knows he would never hurt him. He can’t even bring himself to comfort Dean, who looks absolutely devastated. As quick as that look was there, Castiel watches Dean put his walls back up, and his face grows cold.

Dean steps back, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. He lets out a forced laugh, staring up at the sky. “Ask me again why I stay gone. Don’t try to convince yourself every day you see me that I wasn’t the one who screwed you up.” Castiel opens his mouth to argue this, but Dean looks down, back over at him, speaking first. “Because even if I didn’t, I still did. Might as well have been me doing it.”

Castiel shakes his head. “No. You…never…”

Dean shrugs nonchalantly. Castiel’s mind is whirling. He is the reason for the rift between the brothers? Of course he is. He has done nothing but ruin things, why not destroy their relationship as well. He feels his throat grow tight, and tries to swallows the feeling away. His eyes trail over the man in front of him, who is trying to pretend like nothing in the world can affect him. Castiel knows this man; from his pure, bright soul that left Castiel breathless on first glance, to the very last freckle scattered across his face. He rebuilt this beautiful man. He left his own brand on his flesh as he clutched him tight, and rose him from Hell, fighting all the while. He knows how much he is hurting. He can almost _taste_ it. But he also knows there isn’t anything he can do about it. His own fear is paralyzing him.

”You think killing all the monsters in the world is going to make things right? Is going to set things back to the way they were?” Castiel hates how timid his voice is sounding. Dean crosses his arms, lips pursed in a tight smirk. “You aren’t a monster, Dean. I don’t know why you are trying to convince yourself and everyone else otherwise. You are kind. You are good.”

Dean barks out a laugh. “Whatever you say, angel. You can’t even be around me without looking like you might break, or tear me apart. Depending upon whatever is going on inside your head. Seriously, why do you think I stay away? Hm? The way you look at me, I-“ Dean turns away from him suddenly, running a hand through his hair. Castiel chews on his lower lip. “I know you can’t stand looking at me…remembering what happened. It’s just better if I fucking disappear.” The way Dean’s voice cracks breaks Castiel apart inside. He is the reason he is breaking.

”We need you.” Castiel whispers, feeling himself stepping forward.

”Nah.” Dean turns his body to look over at Castiel, who feels his body freeze. “You are perfectly fine with Sammy waiting on you hand and foot. What the hell did you ever need me for?”

Castiel knows he is trying to cover his pain with being nonchalant, but he isn’t in the mood to play along, anymore. He is tired. He is beyond frustrated with everything and the situation he’s gotten everyone in. The tension between everyone is his fault and his fault alone. It all boils down to him. He has sworn his life to this man- fallen for him. They have fought together, and always come through. He narrows his eyes, and wills his feet to move closer to his Righteous Man. His breath comes out in quick gasps, he feels his chest tightening. He grabs Dean’s jacket with both hands, pulling his face to his to they are nose to nose.

”He is trying to balance everything, and take care of both of us! Even as unwarranted as it is, he isn’t giving up! He still has Faith that this bullshit situation is going to turn out fine, no matter how screwed up it gets!” Castiel feels himself snarling in Dean’s face, his green eyes are wide in surprise, staring down at him. “I have given everything for you! I have rebelled against my brothers and sisters for you! I have given up Heaven just to be by your side! I have always fought for you, and will always fight for you! Even throughout this whole situation, I am fighting through my own emotions and my own feelings for _**you**_. Do I mean so little to you that you would just give up?”

Castiel watches the cool façade fall from Dean’s face, and is replaced by a sudden sadness. His green eyes are shinning with unshed tears. Castiel’s swallows hard, hands dropping from Dean’s jacket, realizing just how close they are. The fog of the breath mixes as their eyes stay locked together. Castiel cannot seem to make his feet move, but he isn’t really sure if he wants to. He wants to be close to Dean. His body wants to be close to him. He wants to comfort him. He just doesn’t know _how_ to, anymore. Too much has happened, and he isn’t even sure what most of it was. All he knows is the man he has loved since he saw him in Hell, is in pain. And he cannot stop that pain anymore.

”I’m poison, Cas.” Dean whispers, his warm breath brushes over Castiel’s lips like a kiss. “Don’t you get that? Everyone who gets close to me gets killed or…or…” He squeezes his eyes shut, tears spilling out. “Or worse.”

Castiel’s hand is cupping Dean’s face, thumb wiping away a fallen tear before he realizes what he is doing. He feels his eyes go wide in shock, and hears Dean gasp, as his green eyes shoot open locking with his in surprise. Castiel freezes, taking a shaky breath trying to calm his heart that is beating at an abnormal rate. His eyes search Dean’s, trying to express his thoughts without words. How sorry he is for everything. How much he wishes things could go back to how they were. How much he misses the closeness with his best friend. How much love he has for him…

Castiel feels Dean’s warm hand wrap around his, pressing his hand closer into Dean’s face, gently. Dean slowly rubs his thumb over the back of his hand, and Castiel lets out a shaky sigh. This is all too much, yet, this is everything he has wanted. He looks up at Dean through tear filled eyes, and is met with that sideways smile he has come to adore so much.

”Heya Cas...” Dean squeezes his hand lightly, lips twitching up into a smile at the corners. “It’s going to be okay.”

Castiel feels like every emotion he has tried to keep bottled up for so long is coming out all at once, and he has no idea why, or how to stop it. All knows is his chest _hurts_. Dean’s words rack a sob out of him, and he feels his knees beginning to give. He lets himself fall into the gravel, hand slipping away from Dean’s warmth. He hears Dean scramble, hands reaching for his arms or body. He vaguely hears the telltale sound of the Impala door opening and closing before a dark shadow is over him.

”What the hell did you do, Dean?” He barely notices Sam’s voice above him.

”We were talkin’!” What the fuck you think happened!” Castiel looks up to Dean growling at his brother. He needs to stop it before it gets worse.

”Oh, I don’t know, Dean. I’m sure you said or did something like a complete jackass, not thinking about what it would do to Cas.” Castiel shakes his head trying to gather himself together.

He slowly pushes himself up on shaky legs. Sam is immediately there with his hands to help him steady himself, checking him to see if he’s okay. He tries to ignore how Dean clinches his jaw, draws back, crosses his arms, and glares at them. He knows that Dean thinks that he doesn’t notice, but he does. His whole demeanor has changed, and now Castiel understands. Something has clicked inside him, and he gets it. Dean use to be the one to take care of him. Be there for him. _Touch_ him. Now it’s Sam. He is Dean’s angel, and Dean is his Righteous Man. They share a bond that no one else can feel or even understand. Dean is jealous of Sam. Therefore, he is lashing out at Sam because he can’t be near _him_. Castiel sighs realizing another problem created, and has been too blind to realize until now.

”Stop-“

Sam’s phone ringing cuts off his words. With a huff he digs into his pocket pulling out the phone and swipes it without looking at the screen. “Yeah?”

Castiel watches his face flood over with immediate anger. His eyes flicker over to Dean, who is creeping closer to the pair of them, trying to listen to the conversation on the other end.

”I understand…No, he is right here.” Sam shoves the phone in Dean’s direction as his eyes go narrow in question. “Abaddon.”

”What does that stupid bitch want to talk to me for?” Dean asks staring down at the phone.

”Just take it! Just take it, and talk to her!” Sam shoves the phone in Dean’s hands runs a hand through his hair.

Castiel narrows his eyes as Dean brings the phone to his ear, murmuring his presence, then immediately his whole body goes stiff. Castiel steps closer, but Sam places a hand on his shoulder. He whips his head around opening his mouth about ready to question the brother, shaking the hand away. Sam mouths the words no, as he shakes his head in frustration. Castiel turns back to look at Dean in confusion. He has eyes closed tightly, his face radiating nothing but anger, and phone gripped so tightly he is amazed it isn’t broken.

”You stupid demon bitch.” Dean snarled into the phone. “Yeah, fine. I hear you.” He opens his eyes, locking them onto his. “You know I’m going to kill you eventually, right? And I’m going to enjoy every minute of watching the light fade from your eyes.” Dean tosses the phone over at Sam without warning.

”What was that?” Castiel asks, looking between the brothers.

Dean runs a hand down his face letting out a frustrated yell as another car passes, causing the wind to whip Dean’s hair wildly around him. “I’m really getting sick demon’s thinking they can use me for their own personal crap.” He looks up at the sky helplessly, then back over at them. Castiel sighs in frustration that once again he is the only one completely left unknowing. Dean looks over at him, giving him an exasperated look in response. “She has Crowley and The Blade. She realizes she can’t use The Blade without me, and is using Crowley as leverage or something.” Dean shrugs with a slight smirk on his lips, sticking his hands in his pockets, looking out into the field off the side of them. “Cleveland, Ohio. She said she gave Sammy the address, or something. I just need to be her lap dog, or do the killing. Something like that.”

”You know this is a trap, right?” Sam says pocketing his phone.

”Obviously.” Dean shrugs again. “I’d be an idiot not to walk into this expecting a trap.”

Castiel shakes his head, not liking this at all. They would have to go against Abaddon without the element of surprise. Without The Blade in their hands. Without a plan ready. ”We are just suppose to walk in there and-“

” _I_.” Dean turns, looking at him. “ _I_ am suppose to come alone. You need to stay clear of this. Stay with Sam.”

Before anyone can stop him, Castiel quickly approaches Dean and swings his fist, feeling it connect across his face. The pain that he feels shoots through his fist down his arm is excruciating. He swears he must have damaged his hand again, but has little time to dwell on that. Dean’s look of shock is quickly replaced with a glare full of venom.

He grabs his jacket, ignoring his pained hand, and pulls Dean’s face in close to his again. ”I’m not some pathetic victim you can keep tucked away when things get bad. I am an _angel_ , in case you have forgotten. I am not made to sit on the sidelines like some wounded animal. I am a fighter like you and Sam. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but we are going with you. This is a suicide mission. You need both of us.”

Dean’s narrow green eyes search his, unblinking. Castiel feels a hand squeeze his shoulder. Sam clears his throat. Dean blinks and then knocks Castiel’s hands away, backing away.

”Guys…Cas.” Sam gives Castiel’s shoulder another squeeze until he turns to look at him. “Hey, listen. Where I do one hundred percent agree, that this is a bad idea; It is an even worse idea to get you in there. It’s going to be swarming with demons. Abaddon’s demons. They don’t work for Crowley anymore. They are more ruthless than ever, and you are an injured human.” Castiel flinches at the last part, glaring over Sam’s shoulder at nothing in particular. It always comes down to that. How useless and fragile he really has become.

Castiel cannot even fight with anything Sam has said. It is all true. However much he forgets, or pretends it isn’t true…It is. He is stating the facts about the situation at hand-feelings be damned. He is an injured _human_. He has no wings. He has no grace. Crowley has his grace. If he ever wants to see his grace again, he has to let Dean do things his way. He has to stay back and do what he’s told. He grits his teeth letting out a low hiss. He had never been one for taking orders.

He walks past Sam placing his hand on the handle of the Impala. “Fine. I will sit this out.” Castiel stares at his reflection in the window of the car. “Not as if I really had any option, I suppose.” He opens the door and gets in closing the door firming behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments feed my soul. Let me know what you think! ^_^


	6. Muddy Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Muddy Waters by L.P._
> 
> 'Ello loves!   
> My life has been more demanding than not, as of late. I try to write as much as possible, though... Don't thrown the rotten fruit. I am not going anywhere, I promise. This wont be one of those stories that just gets left like *cues music* Like dussstttt in the winnnddd..  
> Speaking of music, its Tuesday. Do you know what song I heard at work today!? You guessed it. -_-' Fricken Heat Of The Moment. Sadistic bastards working the playlist, snickering in their bigshot chairs knowing someone, somewhere, is freaking the eff out.. Ahem. Yup.  
> Onnnnn that happy note, I hope those of you who are still here and haven't abandoned all hope *waves shyly* are enjoying the ride. Onward!

_ “Dean Winchester.” _ He remembered the soft voice had purred dangerously into his ear, through the phone. _“I am going to tell you exactly what I want, and you are going to listen and do exactly what I say. I have my demons watching you, right now. One wrong move or word, and I’ll have them kill your angel.”_ She chuckled and he heard a muffled scream in a background. _“Did you hear that? That was previous pathetic King of Hell. Now then, a little birdie told me he had your little angel’s grace, and you get that back in return for killing me with The First blade. I must say, I was intrigued.”_ Another scream was heard more loudly over the phone. _“I have the grace. I have The First Blade. I have the pathetic crossroads demon claiming to be King. If you want the grace, you are going to come to me- alone. You will wield The Blade. You are going to help me form a new Hell, me as the Queen. Cleveland, Ohio. Your brother has the address.”_ Another blood curdling scream fills Dean’s ears. _“I will know if you chose not to come alone.”_

Dean’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he passed the city sign that welcomed them to Cleveland. They are so close to getting Castiel’s grace back, he finds himself fidgeting with pent up anticipation.

_ “You stupid demon bitch. Yeah. Fine. I hear you.” _ He had opened his eyes and the first thing he remembered seeing was the bright blue of Castiel’s. It had flooded him with strength. _“You know I’m going to kill you eventually, right? And I’m going to enjoy every minute of watching the light fade from your eyes.”_

“How close are we to the motel, Sammy?” Dean glanced in the review mirror back to Castiel. His angel meets his eyes in an intense ice blue glare. It was as if he had been waiting for him to look the whole time. Dean looks away immediately, shifting in his seat uneasily.

“At the next light take a right. You’ll see the sign.” Sam replied, looking up from his phone. “I’m coming with you, Dean.”

“Sam, don’t.” Dean glares at the road in front of him. He can’t risk telling Sam anything, and even if he could, he knows he wouldn’t. He knows Sam enough to know his brother wouldn’t let him go off to do what he’s about to do.

“No, you listen.” Dean takes his turn a bit too fast, wheels sliding on the slick, freshly snowy road. He straightens the Impala out and spies the sign for the motel coming up. “I thought I made it clear that I am doing this on my own. I need you with Cas, so I know you both are fine.” He pulls into the parking lot, quickly parking Baby towards the front of the rooms, turning her off. “It is going to get bad. I’m not stupid.” Dean rests his forehead on the steering wheel. “I…I just need to know you guys are clear of it while I take care of this mess.”

“Dean…What did Abaddon say to you?” Castiel’s voice is low but firm, involuntarily causing Dean’s heart rate to increase.

Dean lets Castiel’s voice pull his head off the steering wheel, and he looks into a piercing cold, ice blue glare in the review mirror. His voice had been almost commanding, as if he hadn’t of been asking a question; more of demanding an answer. Dean swallows thickly, unable to tear his eyes away from his angel’s. Dean watches as Castiel leans forward over the middle of the seat, and he shifts to look at him. He realizes how uncomfortably close they are.

“Dean.” Castiel’s warm breath sweeps over him. “Crowley’s life should not be so important that you would be sacrificing yourself, my grace or not.” Dean licks his lips nervously; unable to move his eyes away from the soul penetrating stare. “You’re not telling us everything. There is more to this. There always is with you.” He narrows his eyes, giving Dean that all too familiar head tilt. Wisps of dark hair fall in front of those azure eyes, and for the first time Dean realizes how much longer his unruly hair is getting without his grace able to contain it.

Sam clears his throat. Castiel turns his head to Sam breaking eye contact, and Dean finds himself letting out his breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. Without warning, everything feels too much. The car feels too small. He finds himself quickening his breathing without meaning to. The Mark begins to ache unbearably, while the rest of his body starts to sweat. His heartbeat pounds loudly in his ears, and he swears everyone can hear it. He feels his face begin to flush, as sweat begins to bead on his forehead. He can hear two muffled voices that the he knows belong to his brother and Castiel, but it’s all distorted and far away. Sweat trickles down his the side of his face as he brings his hands up in front of him. He sucks in a stale mouthful of air, staring at his trembling hands. Dean quickly balls them into fists, pushing them onto his thighs trying to steady himself. He shakes his head to try and collect himself. The calming sound of his brother’s voice fills his ears.

“Cas has a point. What-“ Dean doesn’t want to hear anything else.

Dean practically falls out of his car, letting the door fall shut heavily behind him. He leans himself over, fists on his knees, trying to steady his breathing, staring at the lightly snow dusted asphalt beneath him. He takes a deep breath, letting the cold air fill his lungs, and lets it come out slowly. He watches his breath fog around him like smoke. He can do this. He can do this. And even if he can’t, he has to. He is going to get back his angel’s grace. He is going to fix him, just like he said.

“Dean? Sam went to get us checked in.” He tries to ignore Castiel’s tentative voice somewhere beside him. “You look…ill. It is freezing out here. Are you…sweating?”

Dean watches as Castiel’s shadow approaches his own, hand outstretched. He stares at their shadows on the pavement, so close so being swallowed whole together. The shadow of the hand slowly drops, joining the rest of Castiel’s blackness. Dean lets out a long, steady breath he’d been holding. The touch never came. He pushes up against Baby, leaning back against the cool of the car. He swears there must be steam rolling off of her from how warm he feels.

“Got our keys, guys.” Sammy announces, walking out over to them. “Dude, you don’t look so hot.”

“Master of observation.” Dean manages his voice to rasp out.

“We should get inside our room out of the cold.” Castiel says stepping closer to Sam. Dean’s eyes narrow at the pair of them.

He doesn’t even know if Castiel knows he is doing it on consciously or not. It makes sense, he guesses. Sam has been there for him throughout this whole crappy situation. He has been his shoulder, his friend, his caretaker, and his protector after everything. That use to be _him_. If ever Castiel needed someone to turn to, he would come to him and vise versa. _They_ share a bond-not his brother. But all that got screwed up. He is the face of evil, pain, and nightmares when Castiel closes his eyes. He is the face Castiel has to see every day, and be reminded of who made him impure. He is the face of a true monster. And soon, he is going to become one. Just so his angel can be free of all this pain.

Sam tosses Castiel the room keys. “I’ll grab the bags. Be in there in a sec.”

Sam takes the Impala keys, and goes around to the trunk opening it up to take out bags. Castiel nods, and begins to walk down the rows of doors to their door. Dean watches as he walks away. His eyes travel slowly down Castiel’s body, trying to memorize every small little detail about him. Castiel stops at a door and slides the key into the lock. Turning his head slightly, he casts a brief look back at Dean. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something. Pausing, Castiel closes it and licks his lips instead, shaking his head.

Sam walks up beside Dean, awkwardly adjusting three duffle bags in his arms. Dean watches Castiel disappear, walking into the room. “I looked up that address she gave us on my gps. It’s some warehouse outside of town.”

Dean feels the cold slowly working its way in through his layers. He shivers; realizing the sweat that was dripping off him moments ago has soaked into his clothes and is now sticking to him and freezing. Dean looks over at Sam who adjusts the bags again, blowing his hair out of his face in a huff. He feels the corner of his lips twitch upwards into smirk at how ridiculous his brother looks in this moment, trying to get everything in one load.

“Better get that crap in the room before you drop it.” Dean chuckles. He walks over to the open trunk, closes it, and takes out the keys.

“You’re coming in, right?” Sam states it more so than asks.

Dean sighs, running a hand down his face. “Yeah, sure Sammy. I’ll be in, in just a few.”

Dean watches Sam shift the bags again. “This stuff with Cas has been hard on everyone. We can’t make stupid decisions based on what we feel about it. Even if she somehow manages to kill Crowley, I am sure we would still be able to find his grace.” Sam narrows his eyes at Dean. “We need to figure out a plan, this time. Not just go into this blind. I’m going to go with you. You can-“

“I’m done with this!” Dean yells, whipping open his door and leaning on it, glaring at his brother. “I cannot push this point anymore home, Sam. You are _**not**_ coming with me. You are staying here with Cas. Where I know both of you are fine. I can handle this, just like I’ve handled this shit before.”

Sam tosses the bags to the ground and steps closer Dean. “Just like you _handled_ making a deal with Crowley before thinking it through? Just like you _handled_ getting The Mark before we knew exactly what we were jumping into? Let us help you! Let me help you! This is a fricken suicide mission, Dean, and you know it! At least with both of us we have a chance at coming out of this alive!” He runs a hand through his hair looking up at the sky in frustration. “It’s Abaddon… I mean, she wants to use you to kill for her. You don’t think she’ll have some sort of army ready to stop you from saying no, or something?” He shakes his head, letting out a heavy sigh. His shoulders slump, all the fight seemed to have left with his sigh. “You getting killed isn’t helping anyone.”

Dean feels his jaw twitch; knowing Sam was remembering the night he was ripped apart in front of him by Hellhounds. The night he fell into Hell. The night Sammy had to watch his big brother die. It is the last thing his brother wants to go through again, and the last thing Dean wants to put him through. Dean knows that feeling of losing Sammy. There aren’t even any words on this plane of existence to describe the amount of pain or incompleteness he felt.

Dean clears his throat, masking any emotions from his face. The demons are out there somewhere, watching them. If he were to stay, or have Sammy go with him, that would be it. Castiel’s grace would be gone. Crowley would be gone. They would be attacked, and the two people he cared most about would probably end up hurt or dead. Dean doesn’t need his brother getting hurt because of his mistakes anymore. Castiel doesn’t deserve anymore pain after everything he had already been through. All he has ever caused is pain and misery. He can at least make right this one thing.

“I’ve fucked up, Sam. I’ve fucked up a lot. Which is why I’m not dragging you into my mess and having you get fucked up with it.” He climbs into the driver’s seat, pausing to the close door. He doesn’t want to leave his brother angry. He doesn’t want the last thing either of them remembered to be a fight. “You know you’re doing really well with Cas. He seems a lot better with you.”

Sam sighs again, shaking his head. “He’s family, Dean. We do whatever we can do for family. He’s never had to be human. I was never close to him like…” He shrugs his shoulders letting the sentence stay unfinished. Dean knows it really doesn’t need to be finished. “I have no idea what I’m doing. Cas didn’t eat at all for days. Maybe I blamed it on him being an angel, and they never had to eat before so he’s not use to it, or something. I finally had to start forcing him to eat, even if it was just a little bit at a time…He stares off most of the time. It’s hard to bring him back. It takes him awhile for him to actually realize who I am, or where we are, I think. I don’t really know. He doesn’t talk much, but he still dreams about…” Sam bites his lip, shifting uneasily.

Dean knows exactly what Castiel dreams about. Castiel dreams about fighting for his life and _Dean_ raping him. The thought brings acid burning up his throat. It’s all the more reason to do exactly what he is planning on doing. To end all of everything Sam just told him and everything else his angel isn’t tell him.

“Better get inside, Sammy.” Dean puts the keys in the ignition and starts the Impala.

“Make it quick.” Sam walks back over to the fallen bags beginning to pick them up. "We’re not done with this yet, jerk.”

“Whatever you say, bitch.” Dean closes the door throwing the car in gear.

~ ~ ~

Dean pulls the Impala over onto the shoulder as he sees the warehouse appear in front of him. He shuts off his gps with the address he had watched Sam enter on his phone while they were driving. He turns off his phone, and shoves it into his jacket pocket. The leather groans as he leans back into his seat letting the car idle, trying focus on taking steady breaths.

He shakes his head, grinding his teeth together. “Get it together. This is for Cas.” He mumbles to himself, shutting off the car and throwing open the door to getting out.

The frigid air hits his lungs painfully, almost knocking the wind out of him. How had the temperature dropped so much in such a short amount of time? He pulls his jacket closer around him, walking to the trunk and unlocking it. Dean takes a moment, eyeing everything he might need, trying to decide what might be best. His hands glide over handguns, machetes, a jug of holy oil, bullets, knives, until it lands on a bottle of holy water. He tucks it away in the inside pocket of his jacket. He picks up the demon knife, tucking it beside his knife already in his waistband. He grabs another clip for his gun, pocketing it in his opposite pocket in his jacket, and closes the trunk.

Dean stares up at the plain looking warehouse, walking around his Impala. It’s dirty, but not really in bad shape at all. You wouldn’t think it’s a place of evil and torture at all, really. It’s just another abandoned building on the side of the road, unable to make it in this world, or something. Dean feels his fingertips start to tingle with the burn of cold, and stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets. He starts walking towards the warehouse cautiously, feet crunching under snow along his way. He tries to listen for any footsteps coming towards him, but hears none.

He makes it all the way to the door without incident. Dean takes his hand out and tries the door finding it unlocked. His eyes narrow as he slowly steps inside a darkened room, taking out the demon knife. If at all possible, it is colder inside than it was outside. Dean whole body shivers as he shuts the door quietly behind him. Looking around, something isn’t right. He can feel it. The door should have been guarded, nothing is ever this easy. He pushes the thought from his mind, and focuses on what he can see in front of him. The room appears to more or less an entryway to staircase, or a door to his right. He cautiously steps towards the door to his right, opening it slowly. The door gives a shrill creak, and Dean flinches, abruptly stopping his movements.

No one comes rushing at him. Dean waits a beat, but he doesn’t hear the heavy footsteps of people running. He doesn’t hear any sound at all, except his own breathing, so he slips through the door. It creaks closed behind him, even with his help to close it. The first thing to catch his eye is a low hanging light to his left, and below it a man splattered in his own blood chained to a metal chair, head hanging low to his chest. Dean looks around the room and sees no one again. He very cautiously walks towards the man. His footsteps almost sound like gunfire echoing around in the large, empty room. Well, empty except for the single man and light above him. The whole set up reeks of Trap 101, and makes the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck prickle. He reaches the battered man, and stands in front of him trying to figure out what kind of significance he holds to be held here. Through the gnashes, dried blood, and torn suit he realizes it is Crowley.

“Fuck, what did they do to you?” Dean breathes, crouching down beside a puddle of blood.

Somewhere in his mind, another warning flashes that Crowley just wouldn’t be left alone like this. Someone would be guarding him. Watching over him. He pushes it away like the last one, and taps Crowley’s cheek with the handle of the knife. His head sways back and forth, chains clanking against the metal of the chair, but otherwise is unresponsive. Dean grits his teeth and smacks him with his other hand. The smack echoes and bounces off the practically empty room, and Crowley groans and shifts stiffly. He rolls his head up, and his eyes squinting seeing Dean.

He turns his head, spitting out a mouthful of blood, then chuckles a bit. “My knight in plaid armor. Come to slay the evil wench, and ride me out into the sunset?”

“What the hell did they do to you, Crowley?” Dean shakes his head, getting up only enough to move behind him to start picking the lock of the chains. His fingers instantly begin to sting from how cold the metal is as he grabs the lock. The light glints off the chains, and reflects symbols engraved in them. He only assumes they are to bind a demon so they can’t smoke out, otherwise Crowley wouldn’t be here.

“A little of this, a little of that. A girl never kisses and tells, darling.” Crowley coughs, his whole body shaking violently, and Dean hears something wet hit the ground next to him. “I don’t mean to rush you, love, but I’m sure they’ll be returning rather quickly.”

Dean looks up from the lock to Crowley’s bloody face turned back to him as much as possible. “I should really just leave you here for giving them Castiel’s grace.”

Crowley’s eyes narrow into a glare. “What-“

“Dean Winchester.” A voice purrs behind him. “You sure know how to keep a girl waiting.”

Dean feels his body tense as he slowly wills it to rise, leaving the lock pick in the lock. He turns around to face the red haired demon. She smiles dangerously at him, leather coated arms crossed over a t-shirt with picture of a half naked girl devil on it, and the words “The Devil Made Me Do It” under it. Dean feels her eyes begin to search him and he responds with a glare, tightening the grip on the blade in his hand.

“I’m here. Now give me my angel’s grace.” Dean says, eyeing the demons gathering behind Abaddon. He counts six in the dim light.

“Now Dean, I don’t think you were listening very well over the phone.” She sighs. “Wield The Blade, help me build a new hell with me as Queen, then you can have that silly little grace back.”

“I…”

She chuckles, looking at him with a look of almost pity. “I always get what I want.”

Dean realizes the grip on the blade is so tight, it is digging into his palm. The pain is the only thing keeping him grounded. His breath is coming out in low, steady hisses between his teeth, as he tries to focus on anything but taking his blade and ramming it through her chest. He knows it won’t do any good anyway, just make her angrier. Behind him, he hears Crowley’s chains move against each other, and Dean wonders if he figured out about the lock pick, yet. Abaddon tips her head slightly, and two demons start walking towards Crowley.

“I see the previous King is awake, again.” She says, bright red lips smirking.

Dean closes his eyes as he hears a solid hit land somewhere on Crowley behind him, and a muffled grunt follows after. He opens his eyes to see a demon placing something wrapped in an old, brown cloth in Abaddon’s hands. His skin begins to buzz with energy, his eyes stay fixed on the item in her hands, almost like a trance. She slowly begins to unwrap it, letting the cloth fall to the ground. Dean feels his pulse begin to race as Abaddon’s fingers trail over the bone.

“This.” She holds up a curve jawbone, and Dean knows at once. No, not knows- _feels_. “Is The First Blade.” She turns it around, seeming to analyze it. Dean licks lips, stepping closer without really thinking about it. “This simple thing has caused so much bloodshed over these thousands of years and now…” A smile slowly spreads back over her lips, as she locks eyes with Dean. She blinks and her eyes open black. She flicks her wrist, and Dean feels him being flung back against the wall. The demon blade slips out of his grasp, falling to the ground below as he hits the wall, air leaving his lungs. “Now you get to be the reason for a whole new wave of bloodshed, in my name.”

He struggles against the hold, trying to push away. Dean swears he can feel someone’s hands around his throat, trying to choke him. She raises her hand higher, which pulls him further up the wall. His feet are barely touching the ground and he kicks helplessly at it trying to get some footing. Dean grabs at his throat helplessly, trying to suck in any type of air he can. He can see Crowley in front of him now, and watches as the demons alternate in between taking turns jabbing him in different places with a knife, and landing hits across his face. He responds with hisses and gruff grunts.

“Now Dean, let’s get real, you and I.” Abaddon purrs again stepping forward in front of his vision of Crowley. “I made you a pretty good deal. One I really don’t see you refusing either way. Poor pretty boy needs his wings, and big bad hunter is going to save the day, right?”

Dean can only glare at her in response, hands clawing at the wall trying to move upwards away from the grip around his neck. Her black eyes blink back to their normal green color.

“What’s wrong?” She smirks. “Hellhound got your tongue?”

Dean feels his glare only grow more intense as he opens his mouth to try and gasp out a reply with the little air left in his lungs. He is interrupted by a loud, rough scream echoing throughout the room empty room. Dean stares at Abaddon as her smirk fills out into a wide smile. She slowly lowers him to the ground, and he collapses to his knees. Dean rubs his throat, gasping for air, swallowing it down with vigor. He stares at the at the filthy cement ground underneath him trying to catch his breath, as a shadow falls over him. He knows it’s Abaddon, and she crouches beside him. Dean feels fingers placed under his chin, and tries to pull his head away. The pull is stronger than him, and Abaddon raises his chin so his face is level with hers.

“To show me that you aren’t up to any of your tricks that I hear so much about, your first order I’m going to give you…” She lets her fingers slide down Dean’s chin to his neck. He holds back a shiver as her fingers pass down over his body. Her hand glides from his shoulder down his arm to where The Mark is, and stops. “The honor of killing the previous pathetic, bleeding King of Hell.” She pulls up the sleeve of his jacket, exposing The Mark.

“Kill Crowley?” Dean hoarsely manages out, eyes darting back between The Mark and The Blade Abaddon still holds.

Abaddon leans in close to Dean’s ear, and places The First Blade in Dean’s hand. “Kill Crowley and then we can have some real fun.”

All the energy that his body had been buzzing within, seems to have collected into The Mark, setting it aglow bright red. His arm feels like it is burning, steadily getting hotter, and Dean hisses at the pain, yet unable to take his eyes from The Blade in his hand. His arm begins to shake, and he swears he can hear whispers of…something growing louder inside his head, unable to catch any of the words. The burning glow of The Mark slowly fades out, sinking into his skin, and he left with a painful itch. His hand is clutched tightly to The Blade, and he stares at it, knowing all this time it would just feel _right_ in his hand. Knowing it would just _fit_.

Somewhere far away he thinks he hears something, but it doesn’t seem important. Nothing really seems important. He actually feels like there isn’t any weight on his shoulders, anymore. He tries to remember exactly what he was doing in the first place, but can’t really remember that either. All he wants to do right now is just slit something open, and watch it bleed. He touches The Blade, tracing the curve of it, feeling a smile pull at the edges of his lips.

“Dean.” An irritated voice says somewhere, breaking his thoughts.

Dean shakes his head, trying to focus. “Wha…What the hell?!”

Abaddon chuckles. “You are connected to The Blades power. You and The Blade are one, now.”

Dean looks down at the old bone in his hand. He can feel the steady hum of power coming from it, running up through his arm. It is running through the blood in his veins now, that power, being pumped throughout his body by his heartbeat. Dean closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath trying to calm the itch he feels on his arm. As he opens his eyes they fall on the four demons close to Abaddon, he swears the itch only pulses more with need.

Abaddon raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest again. “I was never a patient girl.”

Dean looks over to Crowley, chained to his chair. The two demons have backed away, and Dean has to almost laugh at how it reminds him of them almost being like babysitters. In all the ways he envisioned this moment, killing him, he never thought it would be so…pathetic. Crowley, already beaten, bloody, and half dead to the point where it seems like a mercy. That isn’t something he, himself would do. Dean slowly beings walking over to Crowley. He circles his chair, slowly, breathing in the scent of fresh blood. The Blade begins vibrating in his hand, knowing what he is thinking-reading his thoughts and actions- anticipating the soon to be kill.

Dean stands in front of Crowley, breath coming out in a steady fog in front of him. Everything is eerily silent, except for a steady drip-drip-drip Crowley’s blood as it falls, collecting in a growing puddle underneath him. The fallen King raises his head at Dean, trying to speak. It comes out a croaked cough. He tries clearing his throat to find his voice, as Dean steps forward, raising The Blade up to Crowley’s face.

“This is for stealing Castiel’s grace.” He places the blade at the top of his face, and slides it slowly down to his jaw line. Dean feels a slow smile break over his face, listening to the skin break open as he slices it. He _feels_ the cut. The itch begins to ebb a little.

Crowley growls, eyes never leaving Dean’s. “Po-Pough-“Something in the back of Dean’s mind pushes, trying to make its way to the front, but the whispering from The Blade become louder trying edge it away. He furrows his forehead, pausing The Blade that digging into the temple of the other side of Crowley’s face. “Poughkeepsie.” Crowley spats, eyes darting behind Dean quickly.

Dean spins around, just in time to block one of Abaddon’s demons raising a knife to plunge into him. He pushes the demons arm back, swings The First Blade at his neck, slicing clean through his neck. The head falls to the floor with a solid thud, blood splattering him. Dean kicks it off to the side, pushing the torso over.

His senses seem to focus on everything at once, but take it all in easily. Dean can practically hear The Blade singing for more. He feels his lips twist into a grin, happy to comply. He turns to the second demon advancing at him, momentarily enjoying the red playing at his vision. The demon raises his arm to swing his blade, but Dean catches his wrist, twists and breaks it all in one smooth, quick motion. Before he can call out in pain, he shoves The Blade into the demons chest, then pulls it upwards, savoring the openmouthed gape of pain and horror from his victim. He yanks out The Blade, watching the demon fall to his knees, life flickering out of his eyes. Dean kicks him the rest of the way over.

He turns to where Abaddon is standing, another four demons in front of her. A smirk of almost amusement is splayed out over her lips, and Dean feels The Blade begin to vibrate in his hands as his anger spikes. His body begins to hum to energy, as his vision threatens to be taken over by the red. His mind is a haze of anything but killing and _blood_. He wants to bathe in it. He wants to see nothing but it. He wants to stain his hands with it.

He watches the demons turn towards the door getting into a defensive stance. He starts towards them, seeing an opening. Something pulls in his mind, and the redness starts to pulls back from his vision. He stumbles, trying to focus on his targets in front of him. All at once, the humming dulls; his vision goes back to normal color, and he stops walking, falling to his knees.

“DEAN!” Sam’s voice bounces around the warehouse.

Dean snaps his head over to the voice, and sees Sam and Castiel running over to him. “Drop the knife, Dean.” Sam says, firmly.

Dean looks down at The Blade in his hand, then back up at his brother and Castiel upon him. Castiel kneels in front of him, his blue eyes searching him, full of worry. Dean’s head begins to clear, focusing on those eyes. The memory of why he is here suddenly hits him, knocking the air out of his lungs. He finds himself falling forward onto Castiel’s shoulder gasping for air. He breathes in his scent trying just to steady himself. _His grace._ How could he have forgotten? Even for just a moment.

“Oh, isn’t this just adorable.” Abaddon laughs. “Little brother and the broken angel come to try and save the day. I’m afraid you’re too late, boys. He’s mine.”

“You…you tried to kill me!” Dean growls. He rises up from Castiel, getting to his feet. As he steps towards Abaddon, Dean feels Sam’s arms wrap around his shoulders in a tight hold, and thrashes against it. “Let me go, Sammy!”

Dean watches her give a nonchalant shrug. “I wanted to see what you could do.” She flicks her wrist sending all three of them back against a wall.

The impact sends The Blade slipping out of Dean’s hands, clattering to the floor below him. He hears his brother and Castiel struggling against the hold beside him, as he watches Abaddon approaching them, her demons flanking beside her. She veers off, and saunters towards Castiel. Dean tries to yell for the red haired bitch, attempting to draw her attention away from his angel, but all that comes out is a strangled noise. He pushes against the invisible power she has pushing him against the wall, but it only slams him back further.

“Well look at those eyes…” Abaddon purrs, running a finger down Castiel’s face. Dean watches him jerk his face away. “No wonder there is so much trouble for one simple wingless angel.” She grabs his face forcing it back to look at hers. “Maybe I’ll just keep you with me with me. More incentive for lover boy, here, to do what I need done, quickly.” Dean feels the hairs on the back of his neck rising at her cold laughter. “Or maybe I’ll just mess up that pretty face so much Dean will want to stay with me in Hell.”

Dean hears his brother grunting beside him trying to break free. He tries, again, to push away from the wall to get to Castiel without avail. Dean glances at the ground, seeing The Blade out of the corner of his eye. Something inside him pulls him towards The Blade. He focuses on that pull, letting himself become enveloped in it. He vaguely feels The Mark begin to burn, and narrows his eyes at The Blade trying to call it to him. He watches as it slides over the ground closer to him, slightly. He twitches his fingers, pleading for it to come to him.

Castiel’s screams break through his focus, filling his ears. Dean eyes shoot up to Abaddon who is smirking, licking one of her fingernails, covered in blood. His eyes fall over to his heavily panting angel, taking in his ripped and bloody face. Dean’s eyes dart back to Abaddon, watching her tongue slowly slide over finger drinking in Castiel’s blood.

“He tastes good.” She muses. “Want a taste, Dean?”

Dean feels a low snarl escape through his lips, and pushes off the wall with all the force he can muster. He is welcomed only to be slammed back into it with a lightning fast retaliation, leaving his vision dancing with black stars. He hears Castiel let out a hiss beside him, and his brother, a muffled yell. He opens his eyes to see his vision spinning, and tries to shake his head the best he can trying to focus.

“Are we done playing?” Dean hears Abaddon snap her fingers, something heavy fall beside him, and footsteps follow. He blinks his eyes trying to get his vision to clear. “I think I will take him with me. You’re going to have to impress The Queen to regain your angel.”

Dean forces his head to turn just in time to see her two demons grabbing Castiel off the floor, and dragging him upright. He watches Castiel struggling to try to pull his arms away, trying to hit them or break free, but one of the pair quickly slams their fist across his already bloodied face. Castiel lets out a mixture between a whimper and a grunt. The sound sends flashes of memories of Castiel lying on motel room beds, having nightmares covered in sweat. Dean growls straining against the hold, and looks down at The Blade again. He focuses on The Blade, lip quivering in a grimace of pain as The Mark burns on his arm. He narrows his eyes and grinds his teeth, all but yelling for his weapon to come to him.

He twitches his fingers, and watches as The Blade barely moves. He bites down on his lip, barely registering the taste of his own blood on his tongue, desperately trying to focus. He feels his whole body sweating at the heat of his blood beginning to boil from _want_ and from _need_. His heartbeat is steady in his ears, and he swears he can hear whispers again. The burn of The Mark has become more of an ache of an itch, and it’s almost so unbearable he wants to cut it off. He spreads his fingers out, pushing his palm down with a strained scream, using all his anger to demand The Blade to his hand.

When The Blade hits hand, Dean slides down the wall. He locks eyes with Abaddon, and all look of amusement is wiped away, replaced with a look of shock. Dean feels a slow grin twist at the edge of his lips, relishing having destroyed her enjoyment. She holds out her hand to try and push him back, and he braces himself against the power. He stumbles back as it hits him, but leans into it taking three steps forward.

“No! This…This isn’t possible!” Abaddon yells backing up a few steps.

“Oh, I’m afraid it is, you stupid cunt.” Dean turns his head to the voice.

Leaning heavily on the chair he was once chained to, barely standing, but still standing, Crowley is staring at them. Dean quickly notes how his suit is torn into ribbons, and everything seems to be more deepened red with his own blood, than any other color on him.

“Kill him! Kill Crowley! I have your angel! I have his grace!” Abaddon demands, frantically waving a hand towards Crowley, while the other tries to hold Dean back.

Dean feels his blood pumping with power, and his skin prickles with energy. His head sings with the whispers of The Blades wants-no- _their_ wants. The Mark begins to glow, but he barely feels the burn as he advances forward towards Abaddon. She pushes out more power towards him, and he stumbles backwards. Dean feels his lips peel up as an animalist growl escapes. He tightens his grip on The Blade, narrowing his eyes seeing his vision begins to redden again.

He reaches Abaddon, his eyes never leaving her shocked face. Without hesitation he plunges The Blade into her chest. Her screams are barely audible over the humming of The Blades power, mixed with his own heartbeat in his ears. He grabs the hilt with both hands, lifting her up in the air watching her life glow bright, flicker, and spark away. He rips The Blade out roughly, enjoying the wet sound of her lifeless body hitting the ground at his feet. He kneels down on top of her, slamming The Blade in her again, blood splattering over his body. He does it again, finding his redden vision darkening to an even deeper crimson. He can feel the warmth of her blood dripping everywhere over his open skin; he is going to _bathe_ in it. He slams The Blade in her harder and deeper.

“-ean.” Dean’s vision suddenly blurs. His mind is invaded with a numbing fog. Dean looks up and sees his brother standing a little ways away from him. “Dean. It’s over. Put the knife down. She’s dead. The other demons smoked out. It’s done.” He watches Sam hold his hands up to him, walking towards him cautiously. It’s almost as if he was some kind of rabid dog, or something about ready to bite him.

Dean looks down at his hands and all he sees is blood. He drops The Blade as if it was burning him, suddenly realizing he’s holding onto it, and half crawls, half slips backwards away from Abaddon’s body. He looks down at himself, clothes drenched in blood, as his senses begin to work in over drive. He smells the copper tang of blood. It’s overpowering. His hands begin to stick with cooling blood. He swallows thickly, willing himself not to be sick. Dean’s eyes dart back to the mutilated body and he almost loses his stomach. She has a gaping hole in her chest, but there is so much blood it’s hard to tell where else the damage is. There is just blood. Everywhere. He can’t even remember…

“Sam, where’s…Cas…” Dean rasps out. He licks his lips, and gags tasting her blood.

“Dean. I’m fine.” A deep voice says to the side of him.

Dean turns his head to see Castiel limping slowly towards him. He feels something inside his chest crack seeing his angel’s face raked and split open, bloody, from Abaddon’s claws. His clothes are torn he’s holding his side carefully. He hurt his angel again. Castiel is hurt because of him. Every time he tries to make things better, or do the “right thing”, it always ends up getting those he loves fucked over in the process. He killed Abaddon. Now his grace is gone. He did that. He is the reason Castiel won’t ever be an angel again.

Castiel kneels beside Dean, a huff escaping him with the effort. A wince dances over his face almost too quick for anyone to notice. “Are you okay?” Castiel voice, still so strong, makes Dean want to beg him right there for forgiveness. Dean begins to feel his cheeks warm over the intensity of Castiel’s blue eyes slowly roaming up and down his body.

“Well I’m just dandy. Thanks for asking, sweetheart.” Dean tips his head up to see Crowley, who Sam was mostly supporting, standing in front of them. “I love red on you. Really brings out your eyes.”

“You sonofabitch! You gave her Castiel’s grace!” Dean tries to push himself up, but his boots slip and he lands back down on the hard ground. He tries to push the thought, quickly, away to why they are so slick.

“You did what?!” Sam glares down at the bleeding King.

“Hey! Oy! You take me for a bloody fool!?” Crowley snaps, and then starts coughing violently.

Dean glances back at Castiel, and his face just looks utterly broken. Dean reaches out a hand towards him, but flinches and quickly pulls it back seeing it stained red. Crowley clears his throat. Dean drags his eyes back to him just in time to see The King spit blood on the ground, and Sam’s face scowls in disgust.

“I never gave her the bloody grace, you morons.” Crowley pants, holding his chest. “Why would I give her my trump card? Why do you think she was sticking me? For giggles? No, buttercup. We-you and I- made a deal, and I keep my deals.”

Dean stares up at him, trying to process it all. Crowley still had Castiel’s grace. This whole time he had it, still Abaddon had known exactly what to use to get him to act. Bottom line was, Abaddon was dead. Castiel could get his grace back, and become an angel again. He had done it. Everything was okay. Dean tilted his head to look at Castiel, and instead of a smile across his face he was sure he’d have, he saw a frown.

“Abaddon’s demons are still out there. She was creating an army of them…” Castiel’s voice drops away.

“Ah yes.” Crowley shifts his feet, pulling on Sam’s arm to stand up straighter. “They are easy enough things to take care of with a little _persuasion_ in the right direction.” He smirks and nods his head to Dean.

“He’s not touching that damn knife again, Crowley.” Sam says, firmly.

“And rid the world of dark, sneaky, evil things? Restore the balance of Hell? Silly me. Why ever allow such a thing.” Crowley tries to shrug and hisses bending over in pain, holding himself tighter.

Dean rises slowly, making sure to properly place his feet not to slip. He watches Castiel rise beside him in the corner of his vision, and glances at The First Blade lying on the floor between him and his brother. Before Dean can think twice about stepping forward to grab it, Castiel limps forward, determinedly, sweeping up The Blade. Dean watches as he takes off his tattered jacket, wrapping The Blade in it.

“I will take responsibility for The First Blade.” Castiel looks between Dean and Crowley. “Abaddon is dead. You have my grace. It will be returned. Once I have my wings, I will take The Blade away to where it is not a temptation for Dean. We will help you reclaim Hell, and restore the order.”

Dean rubs The Mark absentmindedly narrowing his eyes at Castiel. “Don’t I get a say in any of this?” He watches Castiel’s eyes glance down at something. He follows his eyes and sees his hand rubbing The Mark. He clinches his jaw, dropping his hand away.

“I’ll get your feathers back just as soon as I get enough juice back to zap on out.” Crowley sighs. “As much as I do love painting the walls red with blood and gore, this all just isn’t doing it for me. Mind if we get to along to better establishments, eh?”

“Crowley’s right.” Sam nods towards where they came in. “Let’s go back to the motel and get cleaned up.”

“’Course I am. I’m never wrong.” Crowley smugly adds.

“Shut up, Crowley. I’ll kill you myself.” Sam rolls his eyes and begins walking towards the door, with a limping Crowley in tow.

“Always such a tease, Samantha.” Dean hears Crowley chuckle.

Dean slowly walks over to Castiel, boots slightly sticking to the ground, making his stomach clinch with every noisy, sickening step. Castiel’s eyes stay looking down at his jacket in his arms, face remaining blank. Dean clears his throat trying to get his attention. Castiel ignores him, eyes steady on the bundle in his arms.

“Hey Cas. Time to get out of here.” He watches the blue eyed angel look up at him through his dark lashes.

“You…I don’t understand, Dean. Why were you going to Hell with her? With Abaddon?” Castiel tilts his head, squinting is eyes at Dean, like he’s a puzzle Castiel is trying to solve.

Dean looks away from his intense stare, towards the door they entered. “Seriously, Cas? You want to talk about this now? Here?”

He hears Castiel sigh heavily. “Perhaps not the best of places, but…I just don’t understand.” Dean eyes fall back and meet his blue ones. He shivers at the intensity of the stare. “If you just would have explained everything to us, instead of lying and-“

“Damnit Cas! They would have fucking killed you and Sammy if I had told you anything! Is that what you want to fucking hear? I can’t-” Dean shakes his head trying to calm down. He opens his arms wide, taking a few steps back. “This. All this is because I had a chance to get your grace back.”

Dean watches Castiel’s body straighten, and his eyes narrow into a piercing, cold glare. “Again, you jumped before finding out all the facts. I don’t know why you insist on thinking I’m worth repeatedly risking yourself like this, and now…” He looks down at The First Blade wrapped up in his jacket. “You have no idea-“

“I did what I thought had to be done to keep my word to you, and to keep you and Sam safe. I’d do it all over again if it meant you could get your grace back. You don’t deserve to be a shitty ass human. You’re an angel. What Crowley did to you was bullshit.” Dean crosses his arms, cringing at the dampness of the blood that has soaked into his clothes and now was pressing into this sink. “This is stupid. Sam is probably-“

Before Dean can even register what is happening, Castiel crosses the small space between them in a few steps. His scent surges into Dean’s nose, pushing away the copper smell. It almost makes him light headed breathing in the sudden pureness of it. Somehow, Castiel has managed not to touch him even though Dean’s face is just inches away from his. He narrows his eyes, searching Castiel’s in question.

“It’s getting harder, isn’t it?” Castiel’s deep voice sends an uncontrollable shiver throughout Dean. He shifts the bundle into one arm, and brings his hand up falling onto where his old, faded handprint lay. Dean’s eyes glance at where his hand lay, then back up to his face. “The bloodlust, the thoughts…We- _I_ -will help you. You are not alone. You have to stop keeping secrets from me-us.”

“This…This isn’t about…” Dean shrugs off Castiel’s hand and stumbles back, gripping his hair.

Castiel’s scent, The Mark, the constant humming underneath his skin, the itch, Abaddon lying, almost becoming her bitch for nothing, almost losing Castiel’s grace for good-Dean lets out a frustrated scream. Everything he touches decays. It breaks. He’s poison. He walks over to the metal chair Crowley was chained to, picks up, and throws it across the room. “I fucking try and do the right thing and it’s wrong! If I would’ve told you about everything, that would’ve been wrong cause you would’ve ended up dead!” He walks over to the headless demon and kicks him in the chest, moving him a few feet.

“Dean. Stop.” He barely hears Castiel behind him. The Mark’s burning intensifies, and he rubs it briefly.

“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Story of my fucking worthless God forsaken life.” Dean bends down, picking up the head of the demon. He tilts his head staring into the dead eyes, and chuckles slightly. “I’m not even suppose to be here. I should’ve stayed dead…”

“Dean.” Castiel’s breath tickles the back of Dean’s neck. Dean feels both of Castiel’s arms slowly around his middle. Dean’s breath catches, and he freezes. “Ensamevelaji coredozodizoda. Elasa bolape micaelazodo.”

Dean instantly lets his body sag against Castiel, feeling the anger steadily drain out of him. He feels Castiel’s lips twitch up into a smile against his neck. The sudden realization of Castiel touching him out of his own free will has put him in a state of shock, and he begins to tense up again. “What…What did you just say to me?” Dean whispers, trying not to focus on Castiel tightening his grip around him slightly.

“Just a bunch of nonsense, really.” Dean closes his eyes as Castiel brushes his neck with his lips. “Sam is waiting.”

Castiel lets his arms fall away from around Dean, and lets out a grunt. Dean turns around to see Castiel staring at his hands and arms with a grimace on his face. Dean smirks at his angel trying to rub the blood off on his pants with no luck. The whole thing is morbidly adorable.

Castiel bends down and retrieves The First Blade from the ground, and nods towards the door, steadily limping towards it. Dean looks around the room, eyeing the carnage. He walks over and grabs the demon blade on the ground, and then to the chain spilled out on the floor, throwing it over his shoulder. Anything that can subdue a demon, especially one of Crowley’s powers, that kind of toy needs to be kept. With one last look, avoiding Abaddon’s mutilated body, Dean follows Castiel outside to join the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments feed my soul.  
> Let me know what you think! I welcome all thoughts and emotions. ^_^ Have a beautiful day, loves.


	7. Broken Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Broken Inside, by Broken Iris_
> 
> Loves! I do apologize for the wait. To be completely honest, I have no other excuse except life hit me hard last month. We all know the struggle. Depression is also an outright bitch, am I right? But I was always working on this, whenever I had a chance, I promise you that.  
> Have I mentioned lately how amazing you guys are?! Because, seriously, loves, the feedback I'm getting is amazing. The love is amazing. Your guys comments and kudos keep me going. Thank you for having patience with me. As I've said before, this story is something I cannot just leaving hanging. It'll get there. We have our highs and our lows.  
> On that note, are you guys ready? Let's go down swinging together!

Dean slips out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a heavy, wet thud. He reaches for the shower knob, turning it on as hot as it will let him, then straightens up letting the pipes clank trying to warm up the water. He stands in the middle of the dingy motel bathroom, staring down at his shirt. He realizes it is clingy tightly to his chest, still damp with blood. Before Dean has time to process his own movements, he is running and leaning over the toilet, throwing up nothing but his own stomach acid.

He squeezes his eyes shut as they begin to sting with the tears. Dean’s stomach clinches again, and he retches clinging to the sides of the seat. All he sees behind his eyelids is Abaddon’s shocked expression, her eyes staring back at him, and then red. His stomach starts to tighten again, but he fights the urge to be sick. He opens his eyes trying to rid himself of the image. Dean feels a few of the hot tears run down his face as he reaches up to flush the bile away. He pushes himself up, swaying a bit unsteady, and moves over to the sink. He grabs onto the counter like a lifeline, trying to focus on the sound of the steady fall of the shower water.

The steam from the shower has begun to fog up the mirror, and Dean lets go of the sink counter momentarily to wipe away a strip with the back of his hand. He looks like a disaster. Blood speckles the front of his face like freckles, and everywhere else it is smeared wildly over him like war paint. Dean turns his face away from his image, gritting his teeth against the tightening in his stomach. He rips off his shirt, and throws it over with his jacket. He begins to take off his jeans, but they cling to him worse than his shirt did. He pulls at them violently, grunting and kicking his legs like a child. He finally manages to yank them off, adding them to the pile of his soiled discarded clothing items.

He steps into the shower and sighs as the water hits his skin. The sudden warmth flooding his body sends a shiver throughout his whole body, making his shoulders drop a little. Only then does he realize just how tense his whole body has been. He closes his eyes leaning his head down, walking deeper into the spray of water. He runs his hands through his hair, desperately trying to focus only on the sound of the running water. Dean leans forward, and rests his head on his arms that are up against the wall of the shower. He lets the water run down the back of him, and opens his eyes.

All he sees is _red_.

Dean stares down at his feet below him, watching the dark scarlet liquid swirl down the drain beside them. His eyes glance around at the yellowish, off white tile in front around him, noticing droplets of blood scattered about, crying down the wall. He stumbles back, getting a face full of water spray in the process, sputtering and wiping away at his eyes frantically. When he pulls his calloused hands away from his face, he looks down at them to see them tinted with blood.

Dean reaches down and grabs the nearest bar of soap, knocking over a bottle of shampoo in the process. He begins scrubbing vigorously at his hands, watching as the suds bubble into a sickening pink cherry color. He bites his lip, trying to ignore the tightening of his stomach again, and focuses on making the color wash away. Closing his eyes Dean steps back into the spray of the water, and rubs the bar of soap over his arms.

_ “You are nothing. You’re as mindless and obedient as an attack dog.” _

Dean feels himself dropping the soap, and opens his eyes under the spray of the water. He frantically looks around the shower for the voice. He hears someone knock at the door, and yanks the shower curtain back. He looks around the bathroom trying to figure out where the voice is coming from.

_ “You left part of yourself back in the pit.” _

Dean grabs his head and squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a painfully hoarse scream. The heat from the water hitting him feels like hellfire kissing his skin. Images begin to flicker behind his eyelids. He sees Alastair’s face, twisted in a sickening smile leaning over him. He is staring at himself in a dimly lit room watching his eyes shift to black. He sees Abaddon lick Castiel’s blood off her finger. They blur together, mixing in a repetitive track. Dean swears he can feel Alastair digging the knife into the side of his body, and hear his laughter echo inside his mind. He can feel himself pull the trigger, shooting himself in the chest. He begins to feel his throat squeezing with Abaddon’s power as he watches her lips curl up into a cruel smirk.

~ ~ ~

Castiel knocks again on the bathroom door, but is only met with scream from inside. He clinches his jaw, and turns the handle, opening the door letting himself in, quickly closing it behind him. He stands there a moment, taking in the mayhem in front of him. There are bloody handprints on the side of the toilet, blood smeared on the sink, and streaks of it across the floor to a pile of discarded clothes that are seeping with the liquid. The bathroom looks like someone was murdered here.

His gaze trails up the body of the naked man standing in front of him who is holding his head and face screwed up in a grimace of pain. His screams bounce off the walls making Castiel’s ears begin to ring. He cautiously steps closer to Dean, stopping only when he is just inches away. The spray of the water hitting Dean ricochets off his body and begins to dampen Castiel’s clothes.

“Open your eyes, Dean.” Castiel narrows his eyes at him, unsure if his voice can be heard above the screams. “Dean, look at me! Open your eyes.”

Castiel watches as Dean’s bright eyes shoot open locking onto his, screams abruptly cut off with a whimper. The only sound around them is the steady fall of the shower, and Dean’s heavy pants. Castiel stares back at Dean’s eyes, watching him blink trying to focus. The water begins to sound as loud as a waterfall in the sudden quiet room, save for Dean’s heavy breathing. He watches his Righteous Man’s eyes dart over his face, and then he suddenly flinches back.

“Cas…” Dean whispers hoarsely. Castiel watches as Dean hands drop to their sides.

“You were screaming.” He breathes out, eyes darting over the naked man’s body still tinted with blood. He feels a sudden wave of panic and nausea hits him. Memories of that night, the shifter posing as Dean, flood his mind. He shakes his head trying to force them away. He hesitantly looks back up at Dean’s face and licks his lips trying figure out what to say. “Why…Why were you screaming?”

Castiel watches as Dean’s eyes move to over his face. He bites his lip desperately trying not to flinch away from those intense, green eyes he use to love getting lost in. He reminds himself for the thousandth time, this is _his_ Dean. _He_ wouldn’t hurt him. Dean’s eyes trail back up his face and lock onto his eyes, again. “I kept hearing them.”

“Them?” Castiel tilts his head. He glances down at Dean’s arm and narrows his eyes, watching him begin to rub The Mark. “There is no one in here.”

Dean’s body tenses, hand going still. After a moment, he lets out forced chuckle that makes a chill run over Castiel’s body. He shifts nervously to the side of the shower out of the spray of the water. “Ya. There’s no one here.”

Castiel glances around the bathroom, again, feeling another uncontrollable chill shake his whole body. He knows it isn’t from the cold dampness. The room is the same as he entered; an already unclean room now painted bloody from Dean. There hasn’t been anyone here. No hint that anyone ever has been here, save for Dean and himself. He looks back at Dean to see his gaze now fallen down onto his arm. His thumb kept running over The Mark.

Castiel’s fingers twitch to reach forward and grab his hand away from The Mark. He bites his sore, chapped lips, remembering how easily the other Dean had left him bruised and beaten. Not really him, but him all the same.

“I…I should leave.” Castiel’s voice comes out quiet, as he turns back towards the door. “I can send Sam in to help you finish if-“

“I’m fine.” He hears Dean mumble.

Castiel flinches at the sound of metal sliding over metal. He glances behind him to see that the shower curtain has been pulled back into place, and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. He opens back up the door and steps out into the dimly lit room, letting the door latch behind him. He runs a hand through his hair, sighing. He looks over to Crowley sitting in a chair and Sam standing beside him, eyebrow raised questionably.

“What the bloody hell was all that about?” Crowley asks, throwing a bloodied rag at Sam.

Castiel watches as Sam’s face scrunches up in annoyance as he bends down to pick up the rag off the floor. “Dean is…” Is what? What exactly is he hearing?

“Dean is what?” Sam asks putting the rag on the little table next to Crowley.

“He seems to be hearing voices.” Castiel states, walking over to the bed closest to the bathroom. He sits down on the edge, looking back at Sam.

“My brother is hearing voices.” He says flatly, staring angrily at the ugly, worn carpet under him.

“It would seem so.” Castiel sighs running a hand through his hair again.

He watches Crowley drum his fingers on the side of the chair, wearing his laidback smirk. Castiel feels his hands begin to shake. His body is suddenly vibrating with so much anger he barely realizes he is standing and crossing the room until he’s leaning the over the King of Hell.

Crowley raises his eyebrow at Castiel, huffing out a laugh. “Problem?”

“You. You are my problem.” Castiel feels himself growling as he grabs the demon’s shirt, pulling him up towards him. “You tricked him into getting The Mark all for your stupid selfish reasons. You don’t care what happens to him as long as you continue to reign in Hell. You sit there, uncaring about anything other than yourself. It is ripping him apart! You know as much as I do where this-“

“I’m only going to tell you once. Let me go.” Crowley interrupts, smirk still in place.

“Or you’ll what?” Castiel tightens his grip on the demons shirt, pulling him closer to his face.

Crowley flicks his wrist sending Castiel and Sam flying across the room. “I might not be all recovered, but I can say that I have more juice than you.”

Castiel winces as he sits up, body still shaking with anger. He feels something wet trickle off his face and realizes the gashes on his face must be bleeding again. Sam pushes himself to his feet beside him as Crowley stands up from the chair. He holds out his hand and both of them fly back against the wall. Castiel tries to move to stand but finds his body unable to respond. Just like with Abaddon, his power holds him still.

“Crowley, you made Dean a deal!” Sam says with a low guttural voice.

Crowley rolls his eyes. “A deal I intend to keep, I assure you. Once Castiel here settles down from his temper tantrum and learns not to take his issues out on someone holding onto his bloody angel juice. We can all go on about being civil again, right?”

Castiel glares at Crowley and tries to move again with no luck. “Give me my grace.”

“To have you what? Smite me?” He laughs and straightens out his shredded clothes. “All in due time, cupcake. But for now, I’ll be taking this.” He grabs Castiel’s jacket that’s still wrapped around The First Blade.

“Crowley, you sonofabitch!” Sam snarls. “Don’t touch it!”

“Son of a witch, actually.” Crowley chuckles. “I’ll be in touch.”

Castiel collapses over himself as Crowley disappears, the hold on him with it. He watches Sam stomp across the floor to the chair Crowley was previously sitting, fists tightly held against his body. His whole body flinches as Sam kicks it into the wall behind it. Castiel slowly stands, and walks slowly over to Sam. Sam leans over the table, staring at the nothing in front of him, fists pushing down on the top.

“We can summon him back, trap him, and torture him into giving us back that stupid knife and your grace.” Sam growls under his breath.

“I doubt he would return with the knife. He most likely has already hidden somewhere by now.” Castiel says feeling his anger still simmering under his skin. “He will not return with it until he has a need to.”

“Your grace, Cas.” Sam looks up at him, face softening in pity.

Castiel tries to keep his face neutral, shrugging his shoulder. He hates how Sam always seems look at him with pity, now. He wasn’t created to be some breakable human. He is an Angel of the Lord. He isn’t suppose to bleed, let alone allow a half drained demon get one up on him.

He looks back over to the bathroom door trying to ignore Sam’s lingering gaze. His eyes grow wide when he sees Dean standing there, towel wrapped around his waist. His face set into a disgusted scowl staring back at him.

“Crowley took The Blade and left? You guys couldn’t stop him?!” Dean storms over to his duffle bag, and starts digging through it, ripping out clothes. “Are you fucking kidding me? We have to go through this bullshit again because you guys are incapable of-“

“What the hell did you expect us to do, Dean?” Sam cuts him off, and walks over Dean. He bends down to look at his face. “He had us pinned against the wall!”

Castiel watches as Dean turns suddenly to his brother. “It shouldn’t have even gotten that far!” Castiel narrows his eyes at Dean as he pushes Sam away from him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Sam yells stepping forward and pushing his brother back. “How did we know he was going to run off with The Blade? It’s powerless without you. Cas was going to take it someplace, anyway. You’re more upset that that stupid Blade is gone than the fact Cas doesn’t have his grace back!”

“The Blade is something Crowley is going to use over us.” Dean growls, grabbing an armful of clothes.

Sam shakes his head. “You’ve been obsessed with getting Cas’s grace back for weeks, and now it’s all about-“

“Shut the fuck up about Castiel’s grace!” Dean glares at his brother, dropping his clothes at his feet. Castiel swallows thickly at the sound of his full name being spoken by Dean. “You have no idea what I’ve been through to try and get his grace back.”

“Seems to me you don’t care whether he gets it back or not, as long as you get-“ Sam’s words get cut off by Dean’s fist connecting with the side of his face.

Castiel rushes forward stepping in front of Sam, eyes narrowed towards Dean. “Stop. If you’re going to hit someone, hit me. I provoked Crowley. Not Sam.”

Castiel watches as Dean’s face briefly softens. Dean’s eyes slowly look over his face, finally lingering on his bleeding cheek. His face immediately hardens again and he shakes his head bending down to pick up his fallen clothes. Dean walks back into the bathroom, slamming the door. Castiel turns around to see Sam rubbing his jaw, glaring at the bathroom door.

“We need to watch him closely.” Castiel glances back at the bathroom door. “The effects of The Mark are getting worse.”

“You’re saying he is acting like this because of The Mark?” Sam scoffs looking at him skeptically. “I think it’s just Dean being a jackass.”

Castiel nods. “You have heard the stories of Cain. He is destined to follow the same pattern now that he holds The Mark.”

Sam’s hand pauses against his face, gaze still locked onto the bathroom door. “You said Cain is a Knight of Hell. A demon.”

Castiel falls back down on the bed with a sigh. “He is.”

Sam looks down at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “Dean isn’t a demon.”

“No, he isn’t. The Mark resurrected Cain into a demon.”

The bathroom door opens suddenly, with a fully clothed Dean walking over to the desk where his keys lay. Castiel raises an eyebrow, eyes glancing over to Sam. He watches the brother clinch his jaw but remain silent as Dean grabs his keys and leaves the room quickly without explanation.

“You grab the shower and then I can take a look at your face.” Sam shakes his head, glaring murderously at the hotel door. “Who knows when he’ll be back.”

~ ~ ~

Dean motions the bartender for another shot, while taking a pull on his beer. The bartender nods to him, and walks away from the two dark haired girls, smile slipping from his lips. He pulls out a bottle of the amber whiskey from beneath the counter, and fills up Dean’s glass.

“Anything else?” He asks in a deep voice. Dean can’t help but think of how similar it is to his angel’s voice.

Dean shakes his head, staring down at the shot glass in front of him. The bartender walks back over to the girls, which appear to be the only people in here except for him. He picks up the glass and tips it back, enjoying the comforting burn as it goes down. He stares at the bottle in his hand, fingertips scratching at the edge of the label making it peel. The Mark under his flannel itches uncomfortably under his flannel, and he tips the bottle back to his lips trying to ignore it.

something it had blinded him. He knew it wasn’t really Sam’s fault Crowley had taken The Blade, and still he reacted as if it was. Castiel was going to take it anyway, but something in him had just snapped. He shifts on the uncomfortable stool. If it hadn’t been for Castiel stepping in front of him, he isn’t really sure what he would have done to his brother. Something about those blue eyes staring into him, like they can see him. Like he had the power to just know Dean wouldn’t lay a finger on him. Yet, he is the reason for all of Castiel’s pain.

“Hey man.” Dean blinks up at the bartender in front of him. “Another one?” He holds up the bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“Just leave the bottle.” He mumbles pushing his empty bottle aside.

The bartender raises an eyebrow, but leaves the bottle beside him walking back over to the laughing girls again. Dean grabs the bottle and takes a long pull on the amber colored whiskey. He grunts a little as it goes down. The painful itch on his arm ebbs a little as his head begins to feel slightly fuzzy. Dean knows it’s probably the alcohol numbing the intensity of The Mark, but either way he’ll take it. He squints at the bottle in front of him, trying not to think of anything, but seeing intense blue eyes nonetheless. The two girls suddenly burst out in dramatically loud giggles, interrupting his thoughts. Dean shifts his eyes over to them, biting his lip not to remark in irritation. The bartender looks highly amused as he mixes them another froufrou drink.

“I swear! I watched him leave and then an hour later he came back in again, demanding for his room back.” The longer haired of the brunettes giggles. “I think he had to’ve been drunk, or something. He is usually really nice when he stays at the hotel.”

The shorter haired one in the red strapless shirt grabs her friends arm. “Or maybe he was an alien! He abducted the real guy, and came back in his place!”

The girls burst into giggles again, leaning on each other trying to stay upright. Dean narrows his at them through the dimly lit bar. The bartender hands them their drinks as Dean finds himself wondering if it’s just the liquor making them talk. There haven’t been any signs of any shifters in weeks. None that he or Sammy could come across in all their searching, at least. Even still, as weak a lead as this may be, it still could be something. His curiosity gets the better of him, and he grabs his bottle of whiskey, sliding off the barstool. He walks over to the girls, and sits down on the stool beside the shorter haired girl.

“Hey ladies. Mind if I join you?” He asks, giving them a half smile.

The girls smile at shyly at him, and the longer haired in the one nods, brown eyes running up and down his body. The bartender looks at him, smile dropping slightly, again. Dean knows he probably had big plans to bring one, or hell, maybe both of them home tonight. He can’t really find it in him to care. The alcohol running through his body is doing its job and making everything a little numb. He is just here to work them for information, anyway.

“I’m Tina.” The shorter haired girl says, batting her eyes at him.

“Rachel.” The longer hair girl giggles.

“I’m Dillon.” Dean replies taking another swig on the whiskey. “I heard you guys talking about some pretty crazy stuff, over there.”

“Rach! You gotta tell him about the guy!” Tina squeals, clapping her hands happily. “Dillon! You have to hear this story!”

“Alright, alright.” Rachel giggles again, and takes a sip of her orange looking liquid. “So, I work at this pretty nice hotel in town. We get a lot of regulars that come around for business, and stuff.”

Tina places a hand on Dean’s thigh, leaning over and whispers loudly. “Or aliens!”

“Tina! I haven’t gotten there yet!” Rachel giggles, hitting her friends arm playfully.

Tina squeezes Dean’s thigh laughing, twirling her short hair playfully with her other. He has a very strong urge to remove her hand as painfully as possible, but bites his lip instead. The Marks’ itch flares up in response to the thought, dulling the influence of the alcohol. He bites down harder on his lips trying to suppress a hiss. He just needs to get the story, and come up with some excuse to leave. Tina takes a sip of her blue concoction, and motions for Rachel to continue.

“Anyway!” She giggles swaying a bit. “So we get this one guy, Brady Ruth, in at least twice a month. He stays for about three days or so every time. Really nice guy, always tips big, and not too bad on the eyes.” She swirls her drink with her finger, brown eyes sparkling with mirth. “Today was his check out. Everything was fine, whatever, _normal_.” She stares teasingly at Tina, taking her finger out of her glass and sucking on it. “About an hour later he came storming back into the lobby demanding his room back, saying he wasn’t done with his business! He pushed over two of the bellhops in order to get to the front desk! He didn’t even say sorry, or anything. He said he was going to be staying longer than expected, and not to bother him.”

“Alien!” Tina laughs, moving her hand up a little higher on Dean’s thigh.

Dean notices a group of laughing college looking guys tumble in the door. The bartender shakes his head, and leaves them to go wait on his new customers. Tina begins to rub Dean’s thigh, looking up at him with a flirty smile. He takes another really long drink of his whiskey, trying to ignore the burning ache on his arm. He places the bottle down a little too forcefully, flinching as Tina squeezes his thigh. He keeps his smile in place, and winks at her.

“So what do you think? Alien?” Tina asks, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

“Sounds like he got dumped by his wife, and needed a place to crash.” Dean shrugs taking another swallow of the whiskey. “What does he even do for a living?”

“Aw, you’re no fun!” Tina shoves him playfully with her shoulder. He forces down an urge to slam her face against the corner of the counter.

“From what I hear, he’s some lawyer. One of the maids went into his room to clean it, and he had a bunch of court papers left out on the table.” Rachel replies, sipping her drink again. “I guess you’d have to know him to get that he just really didn’t seem like the same guy. I mean, he just looked…angry. Like, really angry. He didn’t even come back in with his stupid important shiny briefcase or anything.” She scrunches up her nose and shakes her head. “It was just weird.”

Dean glanced quickly down to Tina’s hand edging farther upwards, and tried to convince himself he could be drunk enough to enjoy this. He rubs The Mark through his jacket trying to dull the nagging throb. “So what hotel ya work at, anyway?”

“The Drury Plaza Hotel on East Sixth.” Rachel tilts her head to the side, smiling flirtatiously. “Why? You going to come visit me? Save me from the evil body invader?”

“Maybe I will.” He says, flashing his best smile, winking at her.

Rachel brings the cup to her lips again and begins to sip at it, cheeks flushing a deeper pink than what the alcohol has given her. Tina continues to rub circles with her fingertips repeatedly on his inner thigh making the skin on his thigh begin to itch. Dean has another urge to rip her hand off him, breaking her fingers, and smash her glass across her skull. He squeezes his eyes tightly closed, and rubs the bridge of his nose for a moment trying calm himself down. Tina is babbling on about her college classes, dramatically waving her free hand around as he opens his eyes. He shifts his position on the stool, trying to deter the girl from touching his leg, and looks over to the bartender behind the counter. The bar had gained a few more random people since they have been talking, and he seems preoccupied with helping them out.

Dean takes another drink from his bottle again, wondering, again, if it would be worth it to even look into the guy. It isn’t much to go on. The guy probably had some life issues come up or something. He swirls the liquid in his bottle around thinking it over. Maybe if he just went by to scope things out he’d run into the guy, and could go from there. He needs to pick up a paper and see if there was anything weird going on in this town, anyway.

“Hey Dillon.” Tina leans into his side heavily. Dean bites his lip, again, pushing away another urge to hurt her. “My friends are throwing a party tomorrow night. Think you could make it?”

“Sorry. I’m only in town for the night.” He looks down at the girl’s sad look. “Looking for a place to crash, actually. Maybe I’ll look up that hotel you work at. Sounds like a good place.”

Rachel gives him a shy smile. “Well then you should defiantly stop by the front desk to check on me.”

“I think I could manage that.” Dean replies, downing the rest of the liquid in his bottle. “But, sadly ladies. I think I have to call it a night. I need to be up early.”

Tina gives him a pout, hand slipping off his thigh as he stands up from the barstool. “You could stay at my dorm. My roommate is probably at her boyfriends.”

Dean forces out a chuckle as he waves the bartender over to pay his bill. “Sorry babe. Defiantly next time I’m in town.”

Dean slips the change back into his wallet, and nods to the girls. Tina gives him a pout as he walks out of the bar into the freezing night air, heading for his car. He takes out his phone, pausing over Sam’s number. He stares at the screen blankly, letting the numbers blur together until the screen finally goes black. He shakes his head trying to gain some clarity over the situation. Images of him hitting Sam bubble back up again. Castiels’ face slashed just inches from his own. Abaddon’s blood covering his clothes. The voices he heard echoing inside the bathroom. All the blood all over the bathroom.

He unlocks his screen again, and presses Sam’s number. He listens as it rings, making his way to the Impala and gets in.

“Dean?” A groggy, half awake voice mumbles.

“Sammy, listen. I ran into a couple of girls at a bar and-“

“What the hell is wrong with you?! You’re calling me to tell me you are hooking up with girls?” Sam’s irritated voice replies, instantly more awake and angry. “Seriously? Do you even remember tonight? Abaddon? Cas? Crowley? Any of that ring a bell? You punching me across the face for no reason? You-“

“Shut up and listen to me a second!” Dean grits his teeth, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “I remember everything, okay? I know what happened.” He sighs and leans his head back against the seat. “I’m not fucking hooking up with a couple of girls. I’m checking into a lead.”

“You’re what? Do you even know what time it is? This can wait until tomorrow when we’ve actually looked into it. You’re drunk. You can’t keep running head first into this stuff.” Dean hears Castiel’s voice in the background, and curses himself silently for even calling.

“I’ll check into another place or something for the night. I’m going to see what’s up with this guy.” He slips his key into the ignition and turns it starting up Baby. “I’m not coming back there tonight.”

“You need to listen to me for once, Dean! We’ve all been through a lot in less than twelve hours. We are all just exhausted and need some-“

“I’ll let you know if I find anything out.” He pushes the end button, and throws his phone over into the passenger seat.

The Mark itch flares painfully on his arm, sending his vision spinning. Dean opens the car door just in time to lean over, emptying his stomach of everything he just drank. He grips the door tightly as his stomach clenches again, and he retches. In the dim streetlight he swears when he looks down at his mess, there’s blood. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and shakes his head trying to clear it.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” He whispers hoarsely pushing himself back into the car closing the door, sitting upright in his seat. At least his vision has stopped spinning.

Baby rumbles steadily under him but he can’t seem to focus on it as his usual comfort. He pushes down on his arm, closing his eyes, trying to ease the itch a little bit. Behind his eyelids he watches Abaddon licking her finger with Castiel’s blood dripping from it. Redness threatens the edges of his memories as he watches Abaddon’s eyes as the life sparks out of her. The memories switch over to him being changed to the rack, Alastair’s eyes looking him up and down as he whispers that same question he’s heard for the thousandth time, only this time…

_ ”Daddy’s little girl broke in thirty.” _

Dean’s eyes shoot open. He stares straight ahead seeing nothing really at all, trying to get his heartbeat under control. He swears he can taste blood on his tongue. He realizes he’s breathing as if he ran for miles. The sound of his heartbeat is almost deafening in his ears. Dean shifts his position, hand rising for the shifter. He slams his car in reverse, pulling out of his parking spot, heading for the hotel.

When Dean finally reaches the hotel he isn’t quite sure how he made it there, or how he did it so quickly. He finds a parking spot on the side of the street where he can see the entrance of the hotel, and turns the car off. Dean reaches across the space for his phone, lighting up the screen. He has four missed calls from Sam, three voicemails, and six unread messages. Dean’s hand begins to shake, and he squeezes the phone tightly attempting to try to calm them. He looks back up at the entrance debating about how to go about even seeing this Brady guy. He doesn’t want to be disturbed from what Rachel said, so he probably just has to go and find his room number and go from there.

He looks back down at the phone in his hand. There’s no point in even checking any of the messages, he already knows what his brother has to say. He knows he should be tired-hell, probably beyond exhausted and passed out in the back of his car- but he is too wired to sleep. What if this guy is actually something? What if he was the shifter who attacked Castiel?

Dean tosses the phone back onto the seat beside him and lets himself out of the car. He goes to the trunk of his car, and slides the key in, popping it open. His breathe hitches as Dean’s eyes rest on the silver blade lying amongst the multiple weapons. The last time he used this was on himself when Castiel asked him to. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet only yesterday. This whole fucking situation is his fault and he can’t even make any of it right. He glares at the blade, picking it up slowly and tucking it away in his jacket. He pulls out his gun, quickly checking his magazine to make sure he has adequate enough bullets. Satisfied, he tucks his gun into the back of his jeans, closing the trunk. Dean pockets his keys, and walks towards the doors.

He pushes through the revolving doors into massive lobby with marble floors, leather couches, some huge ass picture of some dude holding a baby is lit up on the wall like it is important, and high vaulted ceilings with an unsettling large light dangling in the middle of it. He hears someone clear their throat off to the side of him snapping him out of his trance, and realizes he’s been standing here gawking like an idiot. He looks over at a bright eyed kid behind a very open desk. He puts on one of his best, charming smiles, and makes his legs start working again.

“Can I help you…sir?” The dark haired kid asks.

Dean glances down at his nametag. “Austin, is it?” The boy nods slightly. “My name is Agent Young with the FBI. I need to get the room number of a Brady Ruth.”

The kid raises an eyebrow and looks Dean up and down briefly. “You’re FBI?”

Dean forces his smile to stay in place. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out his badge, opening it quickly watching the kid’s eyes go wide. He smirks as the kid instantly straightens, mouth falling open and pockets the badge. “Sure am, kid. Now I need to get to this guy without causing a big scene, you know? So just give me his room number and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Uh, right. I mean, yes sir!” Austin starts typing something on the computer beside him. “He’s in Room 178. Fifth floor. The, uh, elevators are straight ahead to your right.” He wraps his arms around his middle, looking at Dean with big eyes.

“Thanks. Don’t tell anyone I was here, got it?” Dean winks at the kid heading off to the elevators.

His footsteps echo loudly as he walks across the open room into a hallway. He reaches the elevator and it opens immediately. He steps in and presses the button for the fifth floor, smile fading from his lips as the doors close. Dean sighs, leaning against the wall of the elevator.

“This is all probably a giant waste of time.” Dean mumbles, rubbing a hand over his face.

The elevator slowly crawls upwards, dinging softly as each floor passes. When it finally reaches the fifth floor, it feels like the longest ride in an elevator he’s ever had. Dean pushes himself off the wall, stepping out into another marble hallway. He glances at the sign on the wall telling him which rooms are which way, and turns right. His eyes glance around taking the pristine looking hallway, and just the sheer niceness of the hallway itself. The floors aren’t even scuffed, for fucks sake.

The numbers on the doors grow larger as he nears the end of the hallway. He stops in front of a room where a “Do Not Disturb” sign hangs from a doorknob. He checks the number again, making sure it says 178. He taps his jacket pocket making sure the silver blade is still there, and raises his hand to knock.

The door opens suddenly, leaving Dean and a man stare to at each other blankly.

“Uh, Mister Ruth. I know it’s late but-“

“Dean Winchester himself.” The man interrupts, smiling slowly. “I must say, it’s a pleasure to actually meet the real you.”

Dean doesn’t even realize he is reacting until he is pushing the man against back against the open door, holding the blade to his neck. A snarl rises up as he pushes the knife harder into his neck, smirking as the sound of burn flesh meets his ears. The painful itch from the Mark strengthens so suddenly, he almost drops the knife and his snarl turns into a low hiss. His body begins to buzz with energy, somehow making his vision clearer-more focused. Dean narrows his eyes at the smirking man beneath him, pushing the blade in harder. The man chuckles, keeping his eyes locked on Dean’s, uncaring his skin is burning underneath the silver.

“How’s that angel doing? I’ve heard so many stories about that him. Pity what happened to him, isn’t it? If only someone could’ve just saved him.” He chuckles to himself, again, as Dean slams his free hand into the door, grazing the shifters hair.

“You’re going to tell me who did this. And then you’re going to tell me how to find them.” Dean growls.

The shifter’s smirk widens, unfazed by Dean’s outburst. “Living with someone who actually did all that damage to his body...How can he ever trust you again? How can he stand to be near you or touch you, after what you did?” The shifters eyes glance behind Dean briefly.

Dean catches the movement a second too late, and he turns around just in time to be met with a fist across the side of his face. He doesn’t even have enough time recover before the shifter he had pinned grabs him, shoving him inside the room, swinging the door closed behind him.

“Let me introduce my friends.” He nods to five men standing around one of the tables. Two of them laugh as Dean stumbles farther in the room. “Boys, this is the great Dean Winchester.”

Dean looks over at the five men in front of him as they eye him like a new play thing. His fingers tighten around the silver knife he still holds, and tries to fight off the sudden urge to rush forward, stabbing them each in the head. Caught off guard by sizing up the men, a foot slams into the back of his knees, sending him kneeling to the ground with a grunt. Dean spins around to react, only in time to barely see the shape of a boot before it hits his jaw. He catches himself on his hands, refusing to fall to the ground, and spits out a mouthful of blood below him.

“We heard you were in town.” Dean looks up at see the shifter impersonating, he can only assume, Brady Ruth looking down at him. “We know you’ve been trying to hunt down our kind, as well.” He shrugs. “Safety in numbers, I always say.”

“You’re all going to pay for Cas.” Dean hisses between clinched teeth.

A deep laugh comes up from behind Dean, making the hair on the back of his neck rise instantly. “Seven of us, against one measly little human? I think you’re a bit outmatched this time, hunter.”

“Let’s have a little fun with him.” A new voice speaks slowly. “Give his brother some lingering nightmares.”

Dean stares down at the blade in his hands as the crimson color pulses around the edges of his vision. He takes in a deep breath trying to steady his anger. “I will give you one last chance.” He whispers, looking up slowly. “Tell me where your friend is that attacked Castiel, and I might make your death less painful.”

“Do you know he screamed the whole time?” Gruff voice from the group of men taunts. “I even heard he got off on the pain. How fucked up is that? How can he even look at you without throwing up?”

”I heard he cried like a little bitch.” The slow speaking man says, chuckling.

Dean closes his eyes tightly trying to push away the memories of walking in and seeing Castiel laying on the bed naked, beaten, covered in fuck knows what, and unable to wake him. Flashes of Castiel staring out into nothing pass beneath his eyelids. They quickly jump over to Castiel flinching away from his touch. Dean shakes his head roughly, unable to stop the onslaught memories. Castiel’s scream somehow echo inside his mind, and he remembers Abaddon licking his angel’s blood off her fingers.

Dean opens his eyes slowly, gaze resting on the floor beneath him. The burn of The Mark flickers over his arm like a fire that refuses to be extinguished. He flexes his fingers over the hilt of the knife, encouraging the burn to run through his veins. He slowly raises his head, a slow grin spreading over his face.

“You’re going to regret that.” Dean whispers, eyeing the men who laugh in response.

Dean feels his grin spread further across his face, as he lets go of his restraint. He welcomes the blood colored red as it consumes his vision He licks his lips as his skin prickles with the fire of The Mark, and he feels his blood hum with energy. The last coherent thought that runs through his mind is the memory Castiel’s deep blue eyes full of fear, staring at Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos give me a high, and keep me going! Let me know what your thoughts, comments, and concerns. Have an amazing day. ^_^


	8. Breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Breathe, by Fleurie_
> 
> 'Ello my beautiful humans! How are you this fine evening?  
> This chapter is a tad longer than we are use to, so I hope it makes up for the lateness. I just want each and every one of you to know how much I love your faces! Each kudo, comment, and question keeps my spirits high that this isn't the train wreck I thought it was. Because, ya know, I had my moments. ^_^'  
> 

Castiel’s leg bounces up and down impatiently on the floor of yet another stolen car. At least this one has working heat. He stares out the window at all the cars parked along the side of the road, straining his eyesight to just catch a glimpse of the sleek, black car. He listens to Sam shift in his seat beside him for the thousandth time. If he wasn’t so consumed with concern for where Dean had run off to again, he might laugh at the sight younger brother stuffed into the cramped, little car.; his knees on either side of the steering wheel, head almost touching the ceiling.

“What’s the GPS say, Cas?” Sam huffs out in frustration.

He looks down at the phone in his hands, seeing the same address as a few minutes ago. “The same as a moment ago. His location has not changed.” He squints at the screen, trying to make out anything else that might help. “In front of a hotel, it seems.”

Castiel raises his head, staring out at the road in front of them. They were practically the only ones on the road, which made sense for it being after to two o’clock in the morning. They pass the cars along the side of the road slowly, keeping their eyes alert for any trace of Dean’s car.

“This is ridiculous!” Sam yells, slamming his open fist on the steering wheel. “Why couldn’t he just wait?!”

Castiel shrugs his shoulder slightly, eyes never straying from the cars along the side of the street. Sam was right, though. Dean should be as exhausted as they are, possibly even more so with what his body has gone through. Yet, here they were. Driving around, looking for him at some early morning hour. The thought made Castiel’s head throb with the beginning of a headache.

“This isn’t right. Dean shouldn’t be following up on some possible bullshit lead! I’m beyond exhausted, and I haven’t been through half the shit he has.” Sam echoes his thoughts. “It doesn’t make any sense how he can still be functioning.”

Castiel hums in response, leaning closer to the window. “Sam.” He points out the windshield. “That’s the Impala.”

They drive past the car slowly, looking inside the windows to see it empty. Sam pulls into an open space a few spaces up, and hastily exiting the car. Castiel climbs out of his side, pocketing the cell phone in the borrowed jacket from Sam. He takes in a sharp breath as the frigid air burns against his open wounds on his face.

“He has to be inside there.” Sam nods to the massive hotel in front of them.

“That would be the most logical assumption. As to finding him, though, that is another problem. The signal from his phone was traced to his car.” Castiel replies, wincing as the wind hits his face again.

Castiel hugs the jacket closer around him, watching Sam’s jaw clench and unclench. With a huff of frustration, the younger brother starts walking towards the building. Castiel follows trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in his gut. They have no idea what lead Dean was following. He can only assume it must have lead to something due to Dean being gone over an hour. Why he would jump into something so foolishly was unknown to him, yet screamed Dean Winchester. The lack of details made his mind ache even more so than it already was.

Castiel follows closely behind Sam as he pushes through the revolving doors. They step out into a large open room with sparkling, pristine, gray marble floors. Castiel raises an eyebrow to Sam’s awestruck look, nudging his shoulder gently. A cough comes from somewhere beside them, and Castiel looked over to a low desk with a boy standing behind it, staring at them with wide eyes.

“Uh, can I help you…?” The boy asked with a nervous voice, wide eyes darting back and forth between them.

Castiel watches Sam blink a few times to collect himself, as they walked over to the desk. There was no way Dean could have gotten past this boy without being seen.

“I’m looking for someone.” Sam says, leaning over the desk closer to the boy.

“Um, you aren’t from the FBI too, are you?” His voice squeaks out, eyes suddenly growing comically wide. They rest on Castiel’s face, and he watches the boy pale. “I swear I didn’t tell anyone! Honest! Please don’t arrest me!”

Castiel feels his eyes narrow as the boy backs up, hands raised in defense. He could practically feel the anger rolling off Sam as the younger brother reaches over, grabbing the kid by his uniformed black vest.

“Where did the other agent go!? Tell me now!” Sam’s voice echoes off the large room.

The boy lets out a yelp as Sam yanks him closer to his face. “Room 178! He went to room 178! Top floor!” The boy whimpers, starting to cry as Sam pushes him back, letting him go.

Castiel has to half jog to keep up with the younger brother’s fast paced steady strides to the elevators. Sam slams his thumb over the button indicating “up”. After a few moments without the doors opening, he growls in frustration and pushes his thumb repeatedly over the button. Castiel steps closer to Sam, trying not to comment on how hard he is now pushing the button. He brings his hand up to rest on his shoulder in an attempt to try and draw his focus back to rational thinking, and their mission.

Sam’s thumb hesitates, face falling blank. “Sam, we need to think about what we might be walking into.” The brother’s body remains still beneath his hand. Castiel squeezes it slightly, trying to offer some sort of comfort. “We need to have some sort of plan.”

The doors slide open as Sam shrugs off his hand. Castiel lets it drop as he hastily follows Sam inside the rather large metal box. Sam presses button to the fifth floor with more force than really needed. He stands uncharacteristically still as the doors close slowly, sealing them inside. The elevator begins its slow climb upwards, without the usual lurch. Castiel leans back against the wall, staring at the back of Sam’s head in silence.

He knows this is how Dean is-how he reacts- but still the thought of his Righteous Man throwing himself into some unknown situation makes his skin itch. There have been too many close calls and far too much blood, lately. He knows he is the reason behind all the pain and poor choices made. If only he had been more observant. Connected the dots to why his grace was waning in the first place, none of this would have ever happened.

Looking back at it now, it was almost ridiculously obvious what was going on. What they thought had been ghosts or some other type of monster always ended up being a demon. The fact that he wound up killing them all, almost too easily, should have sparked some sort of warning for any of them, really. He is at fault for everything that has happened, including what happened to Dean.

Castiel pushes up from the wall, biting the inside of his cheek. The night with Dean at the motel was entirely his fault. He has gone over it thousands of times inside his head, picking apart every little detail. He should have known that something was off when Dean came near him. He should have been able to get away from him. He wasn’t made to be weak; he was made to be a warrior. An Angel of the Lord. Still he had let down his guard, and the ramifications of his foolishness created this downward spiral of events.

He takes in a sharp breath, swaying slightly on his feet. Sam glances over his shoulder, briefly, at the sound as Castiel grips onto the hand bar of the elevator. It wasn’t Dean, it was a shifter. Why does he still see Dean as the one who beat him and made him impure? _His_ Dean would never have done those things.

The elevator dings, startling Castiel from his thoughts. Sam walks out into the hallway, pausing for him to follow. He reluctantly lets go of the cold metal bar, joining Sam in the gray marbled hallway. They read the sign that tells them which way to room 178, and turn right walking beside each other.

“We need to…” Sam whispers roughly, glancing at Castiel beside him. “Be ready for anything.”

Castiel watches Sam’s fingers twitch towards the gun he knows he carries on him. He gives a slight nod in acknowledgement, and strains his hearing to pick up any sounds. There is nothing but the echo of their feet on the hard, too clean marble floor, mixed with their own breathing.

They reach the door marked with a bronze 178, and stand motionless in front of it. There is no noise coming from the inside, not even voices. Castiel’s stomach twists at the silence. Sam raises his hand to the door handle, twisting to see if it is unlock. The door opens easily, with a quiet click of the latch falling back into place. Castiel glances at Sam giving him a quick nod, and Sam throws the door wide open.

There was a slaughter, lunging everything in chaos.

Whatever Castiel thought this situation could be, he didn’t expect to see this. Bodies splayed out everywhere. A few were slumped against the walls with their throats slit, some half lying over the bed; a few more sprawled out on the floor facedown. All of them with stab wounds and various other deep slashes over them. All had blood pooling around their lifeless, still bodies. Castiel’s eyes fall to rest on a silent, motionless man, head bowed and kneeling beside one of the dead bodies. Blood is splattered over him as if it had been raining it inside the room.

“Dean…” Sam’s hoarse voice snaps Castiel out staring at the bodies around them. “Dean, drop the knife.”

Castiel watches as the man in front of them raises his head slowly, his lips pulled up into a snarl. It is only then that he recognizes the man who is soaked in blood-who inflicted so much bloodshed- is his Righteous Man. His Dean. He hesitantly takes a step forward, and watches as Dean blinks a few times coming back into reality. Castiel watches as Dean’s face washes over in complete brokenness as his eyes dart around the carnage. The knife slips out of his fingers onto the carpeted floor with a heavy thump as a strangled noise escapes his lips.

“Dean…” Castiel whispers as he steps cautiously over a lifeless man's foot towards him.

“Tell me…Tell me you had to do this, Dean.” Castiel hears Sam’s voice panicked, straining to keep steady.

Castiel watches Dean’s wide eyes look over at Sam, and then slowly fall down to the dead man in front of him. “I…At first…but this…” His voice breaks as Castiel finally reaches him, standing beside him. His hand twitches to pull him up and wrap his arms around him. He yearns to press his fingers to the man’s temple, taking away all that pain inside him. To shield Dean from all the damage he has caused him. But he knows he cannot do any of those things.

Dean raises his head looking at his brother. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to.”

“No…” Sam crosses the room quickly, and falls to his knees in from of Dean. He grabs his face, making him meet his eyes.“No…Tell me it was them or you!”

Castiel watches as Dean’s mouth opens, but no sound escapes. Dean closes his mouth, eyes looking away from his brother to the floor. Sam’s heavy breaths come out in loud gasps, as Castiel watches Sam’s anger laced concern fall into a look of utter hopelessness. Dean begins to sway slightly in his brothers’ hold, leaning closer to Castiel. Sam lets his hands slip away from his brother, and hangs his head as his breathing comes out ragged.

Castiel leans down and grabs Dean by the arm, urging him to stand. “We need to leave.” Dean looks up at him, unsteadily letting Castiel pull him to his feet. “Sam, we need to leave before someone discovers us.”

Sam gives a slight nod, grabbing Dean’s knife and fumbles to his feet. Castiel moves forward, maneuvering over the bodies carefully. He hesitantly wraps his arm around Dean’s waist to support his weight. He feels Dean lean heavily into him, breath coming out shallow across his ear.

Sam clears his throat moving towards the door. “We’ll take the stairs. There’s probably an exit at the bottom. We’ll go out that way.”

Sam opens the door for them as they walk out into the hallway. Castiel’s breathing begins to labor as he tightens his hold around Dean, who seems to respond leaning heavier into him. He stumbles as they move forward towards the end of the hall to the stairs, and mumbles something incoherent. By the time they have made it down the stairs, Castiel can feel the sweat dripping down his back. They stand next to a heavy glass door that appears to be the exit, and Sam opens it up looking around cautiously.

Dean presses into Castiel even more, feet barely moving as they edge slowly forward. Sam moves to the other side of the fading, blood soaked man, helping carry him the rest of the way to the Impala. Sam fishes the keys out of Dean’s pocket, while Castiel somehow holds Dean upright. He unlocks the doors and they lay him down in the back seat. Dean mumbles under his breath again, arms splayed around haphazardly.

Castiel settles into the passenger seat, glancing over at Sam. “We need to gather our things at the motel and leave town tonight.”

Sam gives a nod, putting the keys into the ignition, bringing her to life. Castiel hesitantly casts a glance to the back seat, watching Dean’s chest rise and fall as they pull onto the street.

~ ~ ~

_ “Dean, Dean, Dean. What will it be today? Ready to, mm, come off that rack?” Dean can almost hear the smirk in Alastair’s words. _

Dean refuses to move, continuing to leave his head hanging on his chest, eyes closed. The darkness behind his own eyelids is his only escape, now, as fleeting as it may be. No one can take that from him. He knows no one is coming to save him. This is what it will be now. Only Alastair’s wretched breath against his face, cold skeletal fingers moving over his skin, and never-ending pain.

He hears something metal scrape across the rusted metal tray he knows that isn’t far away from him. Everything in him wants to flinch away from that noise and what he knows is coming, but he remains still. He knows by now how useless that would be. Moving only rips his flesh more from where the hooks are stabbed into his skin, supporting his weight.

Cold, sharp fingers grab his face forcing it upwards. Dean can smell his sour breath before he feels the warmth fall over his face. “Aren’t we getting tired of playing this game, yet?”

Something jagged slices into his side, and he twists violently to the right of him on reflex trying to get away. The hooks tug against his body, tearing away at his flesh even more than just his own body weight has been. They keep him in place as the uneven metal begins to pull out of his insides, slowly. Unable to keep his breathing steady, he begins to gasp in an attempt to stay still.

“Open those pretty green eyes for me.” Alastair hisses in his ear, leaning onto his body. “I want you to see what I’m going to do to you. I want to watch them fill with fear as I reach for my next toy; just for you. I want to watch every ounce of hope drain out of them.”

Dean squeezes his eyes even more tightly closed as the metal finally slides free from his body. He feels a hot wetness begin to trickle out of his side and down his leg. Alastair’s hand fall free from his face, letting his head drop. Dean takes a few unsteady, deep breaths, trying not to think about the searing pain searing radiating from his side.

“If you won’t open those eyes, I will just have to open them for you.”

Cold fingers suddenly press into his eyes, digging for his eyelids. Dean lets out a hoarse scream, squeezing them tighter against the pressure. Forcefully, they are pried open and begin to water as the pressure stops. Alastair pulls his eyelids up with a sickening smile, and immediately Dean feels something sharp jab into them. He tries to squeeze them shut again, but something is forcing them to stay open. The new, fresh pain to his body is beyond excruciating. Bile builds up in his throat as he begins to choke out screams against the agonizing pull of his eyelids trying to blink.

”There we are.”Alastair smiles down at Dean. “Much better now, mm, yes, I think so.”

Dean’s eyes burn against the air, unable to close them. His eyes dart around desperately trying to find something to focus on that isn’t the demon in front of him. The onslaught of the dull light seems too bright, and his vision begins to blur with dryness. Every movement of his eyes pulls at what he believes to be hooks inserted into his eyelids.

The blurred figure he knows to be Alastair shadows his vision as he leans over Dean again. He feels something smooth tighten around his neck, and he wheezes trying to take in a breath of the foul air. At least he knows that it is only the leather strap holding his head upright, this time. Not the metal one with nails poking through.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Alastair hisses into his ear.

Alastair bites down on his earlobe and Dean tries to jerk his head away. He screams as the hook through his left eyelid rips through the flesh. He squeezes it shut as he suddenly realizes his mistake. Dean cuts off his screams quickly as the demon laughs in front of him. Not screaming makes it worse, but screaming only encourages the pain. He’s damned either way.

Alastair always seems to be testing him to see how much pain he can inflict before Dean’s voice becomes raw, and swears he can feel his throat bleeding. Sometimes, Alastair would cut off his ability to make any sound before he got started. There was no outlet for release. There was only the wet sound of the demon tearing his body apart in ways he never thought to imagine. Over and over he was sliced and left broken apart-figuratively and not. Only after coming to, after he lost consciousness, was his body whole again; memories still intact.

Dean feels wetness running down his face. He has no idea if it’s his own tears or blood from his eye. More than likely a mixture of both. Pride and the care for modesty has long since left him behind. The demon has seen him most vulnerable and then some. There is nothing left inside him. He wonders to himself again, why he still holds out? Why he doesn’t just give into the offer? There was a reason he kept saying “no”, wasn’t there? It feels like there is, or should be. Maybe it was a person? Probably someone close to him, but that other life is gone. No one is coming to save him. It’s been too long-years.

Dean tries to open his eye, but something hot and wet mats it closed, throbbing in protest against his attempt. He tries to make out what the demon in front of him is doing, but his vision has gone far too cloudy to make out anything other than darkened colors. He feels Alastair’s finger curl into his unmarked side right before something is quickly sliced across his chest.

He tries to hold back the screams, but after what seems like days, they rip from his raw throat in attempt to dull the nauseating torment. They encourage the sick demon to push his blades in harder, twist his tool more slowly, and insert his fingers deeper into his open wounds. Alastair’s laughter echoes around the room as he rips into him. Any hope of ever being saved slips away from Dean, as he succumbs into blackness.

~ ~ ~

“-en your eyes! Fuck, Cas! Do something!” He knows this voice. There’s something about this voice that almost makes him want respond to it.

“What would you have me do, Sam?” He hears a familiar gravelly voice over top of someone’s screams. The darkness around him begins to lighten.

“He’s been like this over thirty minutes! Wake him up! NOW!” He wonders who the screams belong to. It sounds painful, almost like the person is breaking apart inside.

He begins to feel something warm pulling him away from the darkness, but fights against it. He doesn’t want to go back towards that screaming. He wants to let the darkness overtake him again. He doesn’t feel anything, anymore But those familiar voices…

“-Adagita ome.” The person’s deep voice gently nudges at his memories. Isn't there something he is supposed to be doing?

“En samevelaji coredozodizoda.” He can’t hear any more screaming. “Olani vnig ol. Odo zomdv moanu.” Maybe Alastair finally got sick of person who’s screams belong to and-

“Ol aziazor elasa.” Dean blinks open his eyes to see a face just inches away staring down at him.

“Cas…” He whispers, voice coming out rough and raw.

Dean brings a hand up, placing it gently over the side of his angel’s wounded face. The azure eyes open wide at the touch, face falling completely blank. His hellish memories abruptly crash over him, and Dean lets out a strangled choke of air feeling as if he was just kicked in the chest. He jerks his hand away from Castiel’s face as if the skin had just burnt him. He stares up at his angel as he pushes against the seat of where Dean is laying, moving farther away from him. Dean hesitantly brings his fingers towards his eyelids, touching them apprehensively. Finding them still intact, he looks around at his surroundings finally taking in that he is laying in the backseat of the Impala.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Sam’s voice breaks slightly as Dean grunts, sitting up and glancing over at him.

Sam stares at him red faced, hair strewn every which way, crouched low on ground just outside of the door. Dean leans forward and runs a hand through his hair, trying to come up with something that would make any type of sense. His hand snags in his matted hair. He brings it to the front of his face, staring at the darkened smears across his hands.

“I’m fine.” He mumbles dropping his bloodied hand to his lap.

“Are you even listening to yourself?” Sam’s voice rises slightly to a half hysteric tone. Dean hears the sound of the leather strain as Sam sits beside him. “This is far from you being ‘fine’. Seven bodies, Dean. Seven. It was a fricken bloodbath, and somehow you got of there with barely a scratch. Why did you go off on your own after everything we’ve been through lately? Haven’t you learned from what’s happened that that’s not a good idea? Who were those guys? How did you even know they were there? Seriously, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since-“

“Sam.” Castiel interrupts him, voice full of warning. “Enough.”

“No Cas!” Dean clenches at his brother snapping at Castiel. “You’re thinking the same thing I am! This is getting out of hand. Mark or no Mark, Dean is out of control. We have to handle this before it gets worse, or something serious happens that we can’t fix.”

“Stop!” Dean lifts his head up at Sam narrowing his eyes. “I’m right fucking here, stop talking about me like I can’t fucking hear you.” He shakes his head and lets it drop behind him against the back of the seat. “I can take care of myself. I’m good.”

“No you can’t. And you know what? You’re the only one who thinks you have to. You don’t have to handle this on your own. Cas and I, we keep trying to help you and you keep pushing us away.” Dean closes his eyes tightly trying to control the urge to snap back at his brother. “You’re on edge, you’re erratic- except for when you’re hunting, because then you’re downright scary. You’re tail-spinning…” Dean raises his head, looking straight ahead out the windshield of the car. His arm begins to throb, but on top of the usual burn he feels like he is going to be sick. “You refuse to talk about it, and won’t let us help you.”

Dean shoves his way on top of Castiel’s lap trying to get his head out of the side of the car. He ends up lying somewhat on top of his legs barely getting his head out in time to lean over, retching what can’t be anymore than bile onto the gravel under him. His eyes begin to sting, tears dripping down his face as his stomach clenches again. He squeezes his eyes tight trying not to look at his mess as more tears spill over.

“Fucking seriously…Damnit Dean...” He hears the groaning of the leather seats as Sam climbs out of the car. The jostling from the door slamming makes his stomach uneasy, again. Something heavy lies across his back, but he doesn’t have it in him to shove it away.

“Dean, I don’t…” Castiel’s rough voice whispers, tentatively. “I don’t know what to do to fix this.”

Dean spits out onto the ground underneath him as Castiel’s hand rubs a slow circle in between his shoulder blades. He pathetically wants to arch his back into it, but catches himself before he moves. As much as he’d love to soak into the feeling of the warm touch, the position he’s in has Castiel’s knees digging into his gut. Dean opens his eyes pushing himself upright, and feels Castiel’s hand slide off his back leaving it cold. He fumbles to get back over his angel’s legs, flinching as his stomach starts to tighten again.

He watches Castiel’s hands fall into his lap, tilting his head at him in a way that use to make Dean smile. He shifts his gaze out the side window, avoiding his angel’s intense gaze. He peers out of the window to see a road in front of him, and wonders where they are. He has no idea how long he’s been out, or even where they’re headed. Sam ‘s body is pressed against the driver’s side door, leaning over the roof.

“Where…where are we?” Dean whispers, looking over to his brothers body pressed up against the driver’s side door.

Dean leans his forehead against the cool window, listening to Castiel adjust in the seat beside him. “I believe we are in Indiana. Or at least close by. I am unsure if we crossed over yet.”

“How long have I been out?” Dean breath fogs the window, his vision of Sam disappearing slightly.

“A few hours, this time.” Castiel clears his throat. “Dean, the dream you-“

“You and I both know it wasn’t a dream.” Dean turns his head around to face Castiel. “You know exactly what I see when I shut my eyes.”

His angel’s face hardens, his piercing blue eyes narrow at him. “I do not understand how the walls crumbled that we put up. I never meant-“

“Stop. It’s stupid to think they’d last forever.” Dean shrugs. “I just have to man up and deal with it. They’re not so bad, anyway.”

Dean bites his lip as Castiel eyes burn furiously into him. His lips pull back into a snarl. It was far from the scared, blank faced Castiel he’s been accustomed to over these past weeks.

“Not that bad?!” Dean edges his body closer to the door as Castiel leans forward. “I can almost feel your soul screaming out in agonizing pain, Dean Winchester. Do you realize you still call for your brother to save you, at times? We both know those are the better memories.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, and then slams his hand down in between the slim space between them. “There is nothing I can do to save you this time! Heaven only knows how your human body hasn’t forced you into insanity at this point.” Castiel leans closer towards Dean, his bright blue eyes never straying from his own. “The only purpose I have ever had was to save and protect you-to keep you safe. I have done nothing but fail, bringing only trouble for you and your brother. I was stupid not to see what was happening with the demons, and now you are paying the price for my failings.”

“Cas, you didn’t-“

“Your screams I heard all the way from Hell are forever etched into my mind. Hearing them rip from your throat again…” Castiel’s eyes search his so intensely that Dean feels his cheeks begin to flush. “I tore through armies of demons to save you from that torment. Your soul burned so brightly-the brightest I have ever seen. Even after all that unfathomable pain, it never dulled. I promised you I would keep you safe, and I’ve failed so many times since then.” Dean jerks back as Castiel’s hand rises slowly towards him. “When I lost my grace, I became a burden. I am worthless without it, weakened and impure…” Dean stills at Castiel touches two fingers to his forehead. After a breath, he lets his hand drops, leaving Dean’s skin tingling from his touch. “Useless.”

“That’s bullshit. You can’t really be blaming yourself for all this bad shit?” Dean stares at his angel, eyes looking over his whole body.

He had lost a significant amount of weight; his dark unruly hair was longer than he’d ever seen it, causing strains to fall across his eyes occasionally when he moved. Castiel’s stubble was growing thick from multiple days of not being shaved, and he had dark circles under his eyes. But the most human looking thing about him was the unhealed open wounds across the side of his face from Abaddon’s nails.

Dean returns his gaze back into Castiel’s hard, piercing eyes. “Crowley stole your grace, you didn’t give that away. This isn’t your fault. And what happened to you…well, I shouldn’t have left you alone to begin with.”

Castiel shakes his head. “You don’t understand! I shouldn’t have let myself get into that situation in the first place. After you came back in the room early without Sam, and-“ He cuts off his words, eyes going wide.

Dean narrows his eyes as Castiel’s words hit him like a smack across the face. “ _ **You**_ ”. Of course he still thought him to be the one who hurt him. The one who made him impure. Dean turns his face from Castiel, staring back out the windshield at the steadily lightening sky.

“Dean, I didn’t mean _you_ -“ Dean reaches for the door handle, yanking it open, cutting off Castiel’s voice.

He slams the door closed behind him; shivering as the chill in the air wraps around him. Dean turns to his brother who is still leaning against the car, head lying on his arms crossed over the roof. He leans his back against his car and stares up at the sky brightening into a faint pinkish orange.

“Where we headed?” Dean mumbles, watching his breath fog in front of him, disappearing with the wind.

He watches out of the corner of his eye as Sam shift beside him, raising his head, staring off in front of him blankly. “Feeling better?”

“Feeling just dandy, Sammy.” Dean clears his throat trying to ignore the sour taste in him mouth, and looks over to him. “Where are we headed? Cause, man, I could really go for a shower to get some of this-“

“What lead were you following?” Sam stands to his full height, looking down at him.

Dean feels a smirk curling up on his lips as he glares up him. “Does it even matter?”

“Of course it fucking matters Dean! Look at you!” Sam waves a hand in front of him. “You’re covered in blood from however many guys, puking your guts out on the side of the road!”

Dean crosses his arms, smirk falling from his lips. “They were shifters, alright? I got a lead on a possible shifter, and I went for it.”

He watches Sam shake his head, trying to ignore the nagging throb beginning to strengthen on his arm. “How the hell did you manage to take them all on with barely a scratch on you?”

Dean pushes down on The Mark as subtly as possible trying to subdue the feeling, turning his body to lean back against the Impala again. He remembers flashes of everything that happened. His vision was sharper; he was able to react faster, somehow, avoiding being hit. He remembers asking the same question over and over again as he ran his blade over and over each one of them. He remembers how much he enjoyed the feeling of their flesh breaking open against his blade. He remembers one of them speaking. Didn’t he answer? What did he say? “I can take care of myself.” He whispers.

He turns his head, slightly, to the sound of the car door opening behind him. He hears Castiel mumble something, and feels the door slam closed. Dean turns his body around to glare at his angel on behalf of his car, only to be meant with Castiel’s furious face glaring back at him.

“There is blood in your vomit.” Castiel states as he moves around the car, stepping into Dean’s space. Dean steps back, eyes never leaving Castiel’s, unsure of how to answer.

“What? Blood?!” He hears Sam’s feet stepping across the gravel. “What the hell!”

Dean licks his lips, glancing over to the side of the car where Castiel exited, and now seeing Sam standing there. He doesn’t even want to try and picture what he left over there. He wants this whole thing dropped, forgotten, and to be on the move again. If only he could remember what that one shifter said? Hadn’t he given the location, to try to have him spare his life, or something? He was almost sure of it. Trying to remember was like watching a movie in fast forward. The more he tried to focus, the more it seemed to blur past.

He looks back over to Castiel, eyes moving to the side of his face. The throb on his arm flares out into a burn, and he lets out a hiss grabbing it. Dean’s head begins to pound as he hears his heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears. He kneels on the ground, holding his head trying to push the noise away.

“Rockford, Illinois! He’s in Illinois!” The deep voiced man-no, shifter- yells in front of him, walking back against the wall. “Stop, fuck! Shit, I can take you to him! I can get you in! You fucking killed them all, what the fuck are you!?”

“Look at me.” Dean shakes his head, blinking frantically trying to shake the vision away. A pair of warm hands grabs his shoulders tightly. “Dean, look at me.” He feels a growl escape his lips, trying to shake away the reddening from his vision. The pressure from the hands increases at the noise. “Damnit, look at me!”

Dean’s body tenses, ready to lunge forward to attack the voice. He snaps his head up, eyes meeting blue. He lets out a breath, the blue eyes leaving him breathless. The anger and pounding in his head slowly drains from his body, as the pumping of his blood begins lessen in his ears. His eyes search the intense, commanding cerulean eyes in front of him as his body begins to slump into his grip, slightly.

“Illinois. Rockford, Illinois.” Dean breathes, lowering his eyes to rest on his angel’s chest. “I need to get there.”

“The next place we are going is to a room to sleep.” Sam’s voice responds somewhere above him. “Wherever we need to go can wait a few hours. We are going together, this time.”

Dean shakes his head. “He’s there. I need to get there now.”

“Who’s there?” Castiel asks, voice dipping lower. .

“Me.” Castiel’s hands yank away from Dean. He falls forward a little, before reaching out with his own hands to catch himself.

Dean stares at the gravel underneath him, listening to Castiel rise to his feet, stumbling away from him. He forces out a harsh laugh, trying to ease the steady gnawing hurt in his chest. He shouldn’t expect any different reaction from his angel, honestly. He, in some sense, did rape and beat him-at least in Castiel’s eyes. His only chance of helping his angel’s pain lessen was destroying the one who hurt him. Maybe it’s the only chance to repairing their bond- if it can even be fixed.

“Get in the car.” He hears his brother order.

Dean pushes himself off the ground, turning around and staring at Sam standing in front of Castiel protectively. The Mark itches underneath his skin as anger seeps inside him. Seeing Castiel avoid him is one thing, but this… He shakes his head at his brother, reaching a trembling hand for the handle. Dean opens the door and lets himself in.

~ ~ ~

He’s not tired. Not even remotely. His blood is racing through him as if he just got done running for miles. The sun peeking through the cracks of the curtain are far too bright and annoying to even try and summon sleep. He’s been laying here for what feels like hours listening to Sam’s soft snores trying to remain as still as possible. Everything inside him is screaming for him to jump out of this room and floor it to Illinois without looking back. He knows that if he left him one more time that would be breaking point for his brother.

Dean quietly reaches a shaky hand into his pocket bringing out his phone, and swipes open the screen. The time of ten twenty-two am catches his eye, and he swallows down a groan. He can’t just lay here anymore. He has to get up, move around, and do something-anything.

He hears Castiel shift his body in the bed next to his couch, and shuts off the phone quickly. Not really like the light from his screen will make any difference from the light pouring through the cracks. He swipes back on his screen and scrolls through his contacts. His finger pauses over Crowley’s name.

The demon probably knows what is going on with his body. He was the one who suggested this whole mess in the first place. More importantly, Crowley has The Blade.

He tightens his grip around his phone as his hands begin to shake even more. His heartbeat starts to race at the thought of having The-no, _his_ \- Blade in his hands again. Something in him, under his skin, is calling out for The Blade. Almost like a low pitched hum barely audible, yet always present. His skin begins to prickle as he remembers how _complete_ he felt holding it in his hand. A slow smile spreads over his lips as he remembers slamming The Blade into Abaddon’s chest. The memory of his mind melding together with _his_ Blade, and finding a certain calm in the chaos around him makes Dean’s yearning deepen.

He doesn’t just want his Blade. He needs it.

He swipes his long since darkened screen back on again, pressing on Crowley’s number as he sits up from the stiff couch. Dean pushes himself to his feet, quietly rushing himself into the bathroom with the phone ringing in his ear. He quietly latches the door, leaning back against the door staring at the ceiling.

“Dean. My favorite Winchester.” He feels Crowley’s smirk through his gruff words tickling his ear. “How nice of you to check in on how I am doing.”

“We need to talk.” Dean whispers, loudly.

“I’m hurt.” Crowley mocks, dryly. “Deeply.”

“Can you-“ Dean blinks rapidly seeing The King of Hell appear suddenly in front of him.

Dean pockets his phone as Crowley slips his own into the inner pocket of his jacket. He looks back at Dean with a smug smile. “Miss me that much, eh? Couldn’t wait to see me again?”

“What the hell is wrong with me?!” Dean hisses as quietly as possible.

“Liquor before beer? Bad taco?” Crowley shrugs slightly. “How the hell should I know?”

Dean grits his teeth at Crowley’s sarcasm, holding back the urge to wipe that smile off his face. “I can’t turn it off! Ever since I killed Abaddon it’s…it’s like this whole other thing.” Dean looks around the bathroom, running a hand through his hair, and licking his lips. “It’s like I get this high. I…I…I need to kill. I mean, I really, really need to kill. And if I don’t I-“

“Yak your guts out.” Crowley deadpans. Dean flicks his glance up to him, nodding slightly. “It’s The Mark.”

Dean’s furrows his forehead. “Meaning?”

Crowley sighs, rolling his eyes. “Wants you to kill. The more you kill, the better you feel. The less you kill the less better you feel.”

Dean shakes his head, trying to comprehend everything The King of Hell was saying. He couldn’t mean…no, that couldn’t happen. He has to protect Sammy. He has to keep his word to Castiel.

_ Castiel. _

His eyes widen slightly, looking back over to Crowley. He still has his angel’s grace. How had he pushed that aside like nothing, again? He is so focused on getting The Blade back in his hands, and what is going on with his own fucked up body, that he didn’t even take a second to remember that Crowley still has Castiel’s grace. That should have been his first thought and priority. This fucking Mark is messing with more than just his body now. It’s twisting what’s important.

Dean narrows his eyes at Crowley, hesitating his question. He can fix both his angel and himself. He can make this all right. He knows the demon has answers. He just isn’t really sure if he wants to hear this answer, though. “How much less better?” He realizes his voice has come out more horse than he meant it to.

“One would imagine the least, best better.” Crowley holds his gaze, face falling neutral.

“So…dead?” Dean breaths out, watching Crowley nod in response. “Wait…Cain had The Mark. He didn’t die.”

“Cain is a demon.” Crowley waves his hand up and down his body. “Your body isn’t strong enough to contain The Blade’s power.”

He wants to be insulted, but knows Crowley is telling the true. He can feel the power, even now without The Blade in his hand. There has to be some way, though, to stop whatever is happening to him. “What if I got rid of it?”

“You want to get rid of it?”

The thought of him being without The Blade almost makes him sick again. The Mark’s itch burns painfully on his arm, as he rubs circles on it. He can feel power running through his veins, even without The Blade in his hand. The thought of what he did to those shifters in the room makes his stomach twist, yet fills him with such…satisfaction. He feels a smile twitch at the corner of his lips remembering the feel of the knife slicing into their throats. It makes him want back that calm, back. He wants to give into that state of hyper aware; uncaring about anything and everything. Just existing in a bloody haze of bodies.

No. This isn’t right. This isn’t who he is…Is it? “What I want is…” Dean squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. He needs to focus back to the reason he’s fighting. The one who he has been fighting for. “…The guy who hurt Cas.” He says slowly, opening his eyes to meet Crowley’s.

A smile stretches slowly over the demons lips. “Well then, gorgeous. Let me go grab that knife, and go get him, shall we?”

“Wait.” Dean steps closer to Crowley. “Castiel’s grace, first.”

Crowley sticks his hands in his jacket pocket, and stands up a bit straighter. “Time is of the essence, love. We’ve already wasted a precious amount carrying on. How about after this is all done we give your boyfriend back his wings, hm?”

Dean grabs Crowley’s jacket collar, pulling him face to face with the demon. “He’s been through enough, Crowley. No more waiting. We made a deal, and I came through on my end. I killed that red haired bitch. Hell, I even saved your ass!” Dean tightens his grip on his collar. “Give him back his grace.”

“What if I told you I had information about a certain shifter?” Crowley looks up at him, raising an eyebrow. “A shifter who might still be wearing a certain someone’s skin.”

Dean lets go of The King of Hell’s jacket, stumbling backwards. “He’s still…” He can’t wrap his head around this. He hasn’t shifted since Castiel? Why? He should have known he would be easier to find. This doesn’t make any sense.

“But my sources tell me he won’t be there for much longer.” Crowley cocks his head at him. “Need I remind you I am a busy man. Rebuilding Hell…”

Dean leans back heavily against the grimy sink. “I got his location.” He runs a hand through his hair trying to slow his thoughts. “I could be there in a few hours. Cas could have his grace...”

“And he wouldn’t be there by the time you arrived.” Crowley sighs. “I can get us there within a few minutes.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Your call, love. Naturally. We could be done with this, back in time before anyone is the wiser.”

“And you’ll return Castiel’s grace?” Dean looks over at Crowley, mind spinning with too many thoughts. He searches his face for any inkling he might be lying.

“The moment we return.” He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head. “It’s of no use to me, anyway.”

Dean licks his lips, gripping the sink behind him tightly, trying to calm his shaking hands. It was either now, or lose the shifter again and probably for good this time. Sam and Castiel were sleeping. They’d never know he left, let alone what he was leaving to do. There was an uneasy feeling in his gut about this whole situation; a nagging in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite grasp a hold of.

“What’s in it for you? Why do this for me?”

Crowley places a hand over his heart gasping sarcastically. “And here I thought we’ve bonded with our time together.” He lowers his hand, sticking it back in his pocket. “You aren’t going to rest until it’s dealt with, obviously. Our concerns should be lying elsewhere. Abaddon’s demons are still out there, searching for the person who killed her.” He nods his head to him. “Wouldn’t want to see your guard slip and something happen.”

He knows he’s right, but still something doesn’t seem right about this whole thing. But if it meant finally setting Castiel free from the shifter out there, it would be worth it. He had his word to keep, after all. “Yeah, okay. Let’s do this.” He pushes himself up away from the sink, watching a slow smile spread over Crowley’s lips.

He blinks a few times at the sudden absence of the demon. He turns off the light, cautiously walking out of the bathroom back into their motel room. Dean reaches for his jacket thrown over the back of a chair, and puts it on as quietly as possible. As he bends down to grab his boots he hears a whimper. Dean pauses, looking over at Castiel’s bed. The sunlight breaking through the curtains has cast a beam of light across his angels face. Dean’s mouth tightens seeing a layer of sweat glistening over his forehead. His hand hovers over his boots trying to figure out if he just imagined the noise or not. Castiel lips seem to be moving in some wordless prayer. His breathing is shallow, almost coming out in gasps. He grabs his boots and moves forward towards the door.

“Dean…” A low, hoarse whisper breaks through the silence of the room.

Dean’s body freezes. Half of him wants to rush over and wipe his sweat away. He wants to comfort Castiel from whatever hellish dreams that are plaguing him. But the other half knows that _he is the reason for the nightmares behind his eyelids. He looks back over to Castiel’s face, which remains unchanged. Sweat still glistens over his pale face; his chapped lips partially opened moving with no sound. Dean turns back to the door, unable to look at his angel anymore. He opens it as quickly as possible to try and escape the screaming in him to stay and take care of his angel._

__

“Thought you may have changed your mind.” Crowley says leaning against the building.

“Let’s get this over with.” Dean bends over to put his boots on. “You got The Blade?”

Crowley opens up his jacket exposing the tip of the handle peeking out of his inner pocket. Dean’s body begins to hum with energy. He fumbles through finishing tying his laces, and pushes himself up moving forward all in one motion. Crowley chuckles and takes out The Blade running a hand over the teeth of the bone. Dean licks his lips, eyes locked onto his Blade. He swears he can hear it calling out to him. Whispering to him words he can’t really make out, but knows they are only for him. The hairs on the back of his neck begin to rise as he reaches out his shaking hand to take it. The Mark’s burn intensifies painfully as his fingers brush the hilt.

Dean wraps his hand around his Blade closing his eyes. He lets out a small sigh as he feels the connection become complete again. Dean feels his racing blood begin to slow, and brings his Blade up to rest on his forehead. He opens his eyes which immediately focus on Crowley who looks at him curiously.

“If you’re done with your little moment…” Crowley places a hand on his shoulder.

Before Dean has time to blink, he nearly falls to his knees as they appear on a sidewalk in front of a diner.

Dean groans, quickly tucking his Blade in the back of his jeans. “Warn a guy next time.”

“So sensitive.” Crowley opens up the door of the diner, looking back at Dean. “Coming?”

Crowley disappears through the door leaving Dean’s only option to follow. He stumbles in after the demon, following him to the table a waitress is placing them. Why are they here? Is this where the shifter is going to be?

“Hi! I’m Erika,” The brown haired girl announces a bit too chipper. “I’ll be your waitress. What can I get for you fella’s?”

“Coffee. Black.” Dean mumbles sitting in the chair across from the demon.

“Really? You can’t be serious.” Crowley raises an eyebrow. “You take this girl’s table, her time, and for what? What’s the tip on a single cup of Joe? A nickel?”

Dean narrows his eyes over to him. “Double cheeseburger, everything. Heavy on the onions.”

“You got it.” The waitress says cheerfully writing down his order and rushing away.

“What are we doing here, Crowley?” Dean leans back on his looking around the diner.

“You ever get tired of the rat race? Never get the urge to just bugger off and howl at the moon? Never ask yourself ‘is this it? Is this all there is?’” The demon stares at Dean with his hands folded under his chin.

”What the hell is wrong with you?” Dean shakes his head, looking over to a family walking in through the door.

“Just trying to make conversation.” He unfolds his hands leaning back in his chair.

“How’s Hell, Crowley? Getting all of Abaddon’s douche’s in line?” Dean asks, squinting at a flyer tapped to the window of the diner, too far away to read.

“Hell’s fine. Hell’s like a Swiss watch. Don’t worry about Hell.” He huffs. “Hell’s complicated.”

Dean snorts, glancing back at Crowley. “Shower sex is complicated. Hell ain’t complicated from last time I was there. Maybe it’s you that’s the problem.”

“Fair enough.” Crowley replies. “What’s your problem then?”

Dean leans over the table glaring up at him. “My problem is we’re sitting in a figgin’ diner drinking coffee instead of out there killing that sonofabitch who attacked Cas.” He sits back up in his seat as Erika comes back to the table with Dean’s cup of coffee. She glances at both of them and leaves quickly without a word. “We’re on a time crunch, remember?” He mocks.

Crowley lets out a chuckle. “Indeed. Timing is always important.” He looks over at the door, and Dean follows his eyes.

Two men dressed in black suits and ties walk in the diner. Dean knows at once they are demons, and reaches behind him, wrapping his hand around his Blade. The Mark on his forearm reacts instantly at the touch, giving him an instant deadly calm.

Crowley raises an eyebrow at Dean, then glances up at his demons. “What do you have for me, gentlemen?”

“Security camera of a Gas-N-Sip near the outskirts of town picked this up.” The smaller of the two demons says handing Crowley a tablet.

“Double cheeseburger with everything.” The waitress announces, placing a plate beside Dean. “Anything else I can-”

“No, we’re good.” Dean interrupts, pushing the plate away from him.

“You frightened the poor girl.” Crowley chuckles again at the waitress hurrying away. “Aren’t we edgy today?”

Dean nods to the tablet. “What’s on that?”

Crowley turns it around letting Dean stare at the black and white footage of himself walking up to the counter with a handful of items. He watches as he looks up at the camera briefly, eyes casting the retinal flare. Dean straightens up, feeling his face fall into a twisted scowl. The fact the shifter hadn’t shifted since he touched his angel makes his skin crawl and blood boil. The Mark on his forearm burns as he hears his Blade whispering for blood. He reaches behind him and adjusts his Blade so it is pressing onto his skin more.

The taller demon bends down and whispers something in Crowley’s ear. He nods and hands the tablet back to the smaller demon. “Thank you, that’ll be all.”

The demon pockets the tablet, and walks back out of the diner. Dean stands up, pulling out his wallet to throw down some money.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Crowley waves to the food in front of him.

“Not hungry.” Dean replies, tossing down two twenties, walking through the diner and out the door.

Dean looks up and down the street trying to get his bearings. Something about this town seems different. It seems smaller and quieter than he remembers. He pulls his jacket tighter around him, turning to the right and walking down the sidewalk unsure of if he’s even headed in the right direction. He needs to move. His blood is racing through his veins knowing he is so close to the shifter who hurt his angel.

“Oy. What's Your plan of action?” Crowley asks, suddenly beside him.

“Kill the bastard. Slowly.” Dean mumbles, walking faster down the sidewalk trying to keep warm.

“In broad daylight? Really now?” Dean feels Crowley’s hand grip his shoulder, pulling him to a stop. “How about we wait till he’s inside his little hole, shall we? No need to draw unwanted attention to a fight with yourself.”

Dean slaps his hand away. “You said he would be gone soon. No time to get Castiel’s grace back. So what are we still doing standing here instead of where he is?!”

Crowley sighs rolling his eyes and sticks his hands in his jacket pocket. “Impulsive as ever.”

Dean steps closer to Crowley, face inches away from his. Their breath fogs and swirls together as Dean jabs a finger into his chest. “You’re gunna take me to him right now. I’m stick of playing these games with you.”

“And then what?” Crowley asks, smirking up at him. “Kill the shifter; go back to your angel in that dirty motel room with The First Blade. Once he gets back his feathers, that’ll be the first thing to go.” He lowers his voice to a gruff whisper. “It won’t make the need to kill any better. It’ll make it worse.”

Dean pushes him back and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. He thinks back to their conversation in the bathroom before they left. He would have to keep killing to hold it together, and even then The Mark’s power is too much for him. He would have to get rid of The Mark all together. His entire arm burns as if on fire at the thought. Dean hisses in pain, squeezing The Mark tightly.

“Just get me to whatever fucking part of Rockford he’s in.” Dean says rubbing The Mark through his jacket.

“Quincy, Indiana actually.” Crowley corrects.

Dean glares at Crowley. This wasn’t right. Something in him, again, pulls that something is off. “Why the fuck are we in Quincy? The shifter I gutted said he was in Rockford!”

“The location he gave you was more than likely to lead you astray, or at the very least, by him some time.” Crowley steps closer to him, as a woman passes beside them walking her dog. “My sources spotted your adorable twin, here. So here we are. Obviously he doesn’t tend to stay in one place too long, or I have no doubt you would’ve caught up with him.”

Dean clinches his fists to try and steady them. He squeezes his eyes shut as red pulses around the edges of his vision. Everything Crowley was saying was beginning to jumble inside his head. Nothing-none of this- was making any sense. The need for running his Blade through something-anything- was increasing. He _needed_ to kill the shifter. The Blade was singing for blood, and his body was begging answer the plea.

He feels the weight of Crowley’s hand on his shoulder and tries to shrug it away. The demon presses his fingers in deeper, and Dean opens his eyes to snap at him only to be taken aback by the sudden change of location. They were standing on a gravel drive dusted with snow. Ahead of them was a sad looking barn.

The paint on the building had long since been chipped and washed away, leaving it bare and naked looking. The filthy windows all looked to be broken and smashed in. A pathetic looking side door swings flimsily in cold breeze, making an irritating squeaking noise. There were no tire tracks on the drive showing anyone had been coming or going, let alone any footsteps.

“What is this?” Something about the silence of the area makes his voice come out quieter than he meant.

“This is supposedly where your evil twin has been staying.” Crowley’s forehead creases as he squints at the barn.

“There’s no footprints or tire tracks, Crowley. Not even a hint that anyone has been here since at least the last time it snowed.” Dean waves a hand at the barn raising his voice in frustration. “Fuck knows how long that’s been!”

“This isn’t…” Crowley moves forward towards the barn.

Dean pushes past the King of Hell stomping angrily towards the doorway opening. He steps inside the threshold, a shiver racking his body as the frigid, still air wraps around him like a blanket. He looks around darkened open area, only to see nothing. Just a large empty area.

Dean grabs his Blade, pulling it out and turning towards Crowley. The Mark pulses on his forearm, sending his blood hammering loudly in his ears. His vision tints red as he slams the demon against the doorframe, pushing his Blade against his throat. Crowley narrows his eyes up at him, remaining silent.

“Where the fuck is he?!” He hisses pushing his Blade harder against his throat. “There’s nothing here!”

“I was told he was here. Clearly,” Crowley’s nods his to the side. “He isn’t here.”

“Who told you?!” Dean pushes his Blade up against the demon’s jaw, licking his lips as a trickle of blood drops down his neck.

The red darkens his vision as he feels the painful burning itch on his forearm ache; it makes his hand begin to shake even more with restraint. He feels his Blade’s _want_ join with his desire for him to see the demon lying in a pool of his own blood. His heartbeat continues to pound loudly in his ears making the whispers just background noises. Dean takes in a sharp breath. _No_. He wouldn’t let The Mark control him. He was in control. He could do this. He shakes his head forcefully, trying to compose himself.

“Easy now, mate.” Crowley says in a low voice, locking eyes with him.

Dean blinks down at the demon’s brown eyes. He lowers his Blade, only then realizing how terribly his hand is shaking. He grips onto the hilt painfully, letting out a frustrated scream, and slams his empty fist into the old decaying wall beside him. Dean glares at his fist slightly hidden inside the surrounding wooden wall, as tries to slow his breathing. It wasn’t enough.

“I have a few of Abaddon’s lackeys to weed out, it would seem.” Crowley huffs behind him. “Must not have gotten the bloody message their cunt of a leader is dead.”

Dean lowers his trembling hand, turning around to face the demon. “Where. Is. He!?”

Crowley shakes his head looking away from him. “Wish I knew.”

Dean feels his lips twist. “Not good enough!”

The King of Hell tilts his head back and looks up at him with an eyebrow raised in question. Dean’s hand twitches to ram The Blade into his chest. He bites his lip, hard, trying to focus on the pain pricking his lip. He tastes his own blood, and licks at the wound, forcing himself to ignore the intense pull inside him wanting to make Crowley bleed out.

The demon looks him up and down taking a cautious step towards him. “Let’s get you back, eh? No point in us standing around here in the cold.”

“Fuck that!” Dean snaps. “We need to keep looking for this bastard!”

“Enlighten me, please.” Crowley asks, voice lowering in a warning tone. “Where, pray tell, would you have us bloody look being that this was the last place I was informed he was and would be?”

He tucks The Blade safely into the back of his jeans, and runs a hand through his hair in frustration, begging his mind to think rationally. “The gas station. We could start there. That was the last place he was, right?”

Crowley rolls his eyes, sighing, approaching him and placing a hand gently on his shoulder. “Moose and his ways are rubbing off on you. Yes, perhaps that was the last place he was. Did you happen to catch the time stamp?”

Dean narrows his eyes down at the demon. He hadn’t bothered to look, why would he? He only trusted it had been a little bit ago. He had been more focused on watching the person who looked exactly like him, and fighting back the sudden rage to rip the fucker apart. Just thinking about it made his anger prickle the hairs on the back of his neck, and breath quicken.

“I’ll take your silence as a no, then. I am sure if we watched the footage, paying closer attention, we would find it hours ago. Possibly even days.” Dean feels Crowley’s grip tighten. “Simple mistake on our parts. Let’s get you back to your fabulous establishment, shall we?”

Dean feels his stomach tighten as Crowley moves their location once more. As his feet hit the ground he stumbles forward out of the demons grip, leaning over himself trying to fight back the familiar feeling of wanting to spew his guts out. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose, biting back a groan as his body reacts to the sudden change.

“I said fucking warn a guy next time you did that!” Dean snaps gasping in the cold air, trying to calm his stomach.

“As if you would go, _willingly_.” Crowley chuckles, forcing out the last word. “Honestly you’re like a child with all your kicking and screaming.”

Another wave of anger floods throughout his body, teasing The Mark. He feels his Blade resting against his lower back, encouraging him to bask the feeling. It begs him to give in and feed into the emotion. Dean stands up slowly seeing the King of Hell leaning against the side of his car. Crowley’s usual smirk greets him as his hand twitches to reach for The Blade and wipe it off his smug face. Dean bites down on his lip trying to fight through the feeling, and clutches his fists to the side of him attempting to still their shakes. He glances behind the demon to the motel. The memory of Castiel whispering out his name, covered in sweat comes flooding back.

“I’ll torture out the location of where your adorable twinsie is, and get back to you shortly.” He pushes up off the side of the car.

Shortly could mean anything. It might be hours-days, even. Anything was too long. Crowley had promised him Castiel’s grace on return, and so help him, he’d better deliver. His angel deserved better than what he was going through these past weeks of being human.

“First you’ll get Cas’ grace.” Dean looks back to the King of Hell. He watches the demon return the look with an amused smirk in response.

“You’re like the nagging wife I never wanted.” Crowley mumbles, rolling his eyes. “I’ll bring back Feather’s angel juice.”

Dean huffs at the sudden absence of the demon. He really wants to believe Crowley, but if the past means anything, everything was always done on the demon’s own timeframe. He lets out a sigh and begins walking towards the door of the motel room. The sun that been sneaking in through the curtains earlier was now covered up by some dreary gray clouds that seemed not only to darken the day, but Dean’s feelings. He notices the cold seems to be more biting here than Quincy, and he quicken his steps up to the door.

Reaching for the doorknob a loud heavy thump shakes the door. Sam must be up and saw he was gone. If he’s throwing things he must be pretty damn angry. Dean bites his lip again, trying to come up with some sort of story off the top of his head. He shakes his head and stands up straighter. Whatever, he isn’t a kid. He could’ve just gone for a walk to get some air, or something. Pretty much what happened anyway.

Sucking in a deep breath, he wraps his fingers around the cold metal of the doorknob, but pauses as he hears something heavy slam against the wall inside, shaking the door. Dean tilts his ear closer to the door trying to make out any voices. He hears a deep muffled voice and another heavy thud. He lets out his breath, deciding he has to face the music eventually, and twists the doorknob pushing the door open in one quick motion.

The first thing that catches his eye is Sam lying face down on the floor a few feet from the door, bleeding and unmoving. The Mark ignites into a searing burn, which makes it feel as if fire is running through his veins. Red immediately threatens to fill his vision, but Dean shakes it away. His eyes quickly search over the small trashed room for Castiel. His Blade begins burn against his skin, calling for Dean to use it. He reaches around behind him, grabbing his Blade with a tingle of relief to have it back run through his body. Dean pulls his Blade out, eyes finally resting on Castiel’s terrified, tear streaked face.

A short brown haired guy in a plaid shirt has Castiel pinned up against the wall by his neck. His angel’s feet dangle helplessly a few inches off the ground. Castiel is pulling and scratching at the strangers hands, but it doesn’t even seem to be bothering the guy at all.

“Get away from him!” Dean yells in a deep voice, cautiously walking inside the motel, eyes glancing around for another person.

“Well aren’t you a surprise, you handsome sonofabitch.” Dean narrows his eyes at the voice. He knows that voice. A sickening feeling hits him as he realizes that, that’s _his_ voice. “Thought I had more time.”

The stranger lowers Castiel to the ground, and Dean watches as the man lets his hand fall from Castiel’s neck to wrapping around his waist. The stranger circles behind his angel, pulling Castiel tightly to his body, making Dean have a sudden urge vomit. Dean tries to make his body respond to his demands to move, but finds himself frozen in place as he locks his angel’s wide, frightened blue eyes. He scans his face for anymore injuries, only finding it wet with tears, the paleness fading as he gasps for air.

Dean forces his eyes to break away from the terrified blue, only to watch the man dip his head down over Castiel’s neck. Dean stares, frozen in horror watching the stranger run his tongue up his angel’s neck up to his jaw line. A growl rips from his lips as he steps forward, body snapping back into attention. The man lifts his head up, away from Castiel’s body, meeting Dean’s eyes. He takes in a sharp breath as he stares back into his own same green eyes. Dean watches as a smile spreads over his own lips as the shifter tilts his head over to bite down on Castiel’s earlobe. He lets out a chuckle as Castiel hisses at the pain.

His Blade’s whispers beg for their wants- _needs_ \- to be filled. The voices begin to sing inside his head, muting out everything else around him. He can feel The Mark’s excruciating burn on his arm, as a snarl rips past his lips. His skin prickles with energy as he feels power coursing throughout his body. The red changes into a dark ruby color, flooding over his vision. Deane barely realizes his body being walking forward towards the shifter, until he is a few feet away.

“Ah ah ah.” The shifter’s left hand moves out from behind Castiel and he presses an angel blade to his throat. “Wouldn’t want to do anything to harm _my_ angel, now would we? How about you drop that blade you got there, sweetheart.”

Dean forces his body to stop moving, the deep crimson color ebbs across over his vision. How did the shifter even get his hands on an angel blade? He grips his Blade tighter, refusing to let it go, and grits his teeth in frustration. This was the shifter who tortured his angel, giving him nightmares every day since he’s been human. This was the monster he had been searching for, for weeks without any trace. And now he was here, still wearing his own damn skin like a taunt, and torturing _his_ angel, again. And for what? Why?

“Why?” The words come out deep and low, vibrating through his chest. He continues to glare at his own smiling face, coldly.

The shifter pushes the angel blade against Castiel’s throat harder, making an animalistic noise escape from Dean’s lips. The crimson color darkens around the edges of his vision, as he stares helplessly at his angel’s face. Castiel lets out a mixture between a grunt and a whimper, his pleading eyes never moving from Dean’s.

“We’re not bad people, ya know? We are just out there, living our lives, minding our own business…” He says wistfully. “And then Dean Winchester has to come along.” Dean watches Castiel squeeze his eyes closed, letting out a hiss as the shifter pushes the blade deeper into his throat. “You came along and started killing us. All of us, not even shifters, but every person you deemed ‘monster’. People who had done nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing, but you still felt the need to kill them.”

Dean holds up his hands in front of him, eyes darting back and forth between the shifter and his angel’s bleeding neck. “We don’t kill for the hell of it. There is always a reason.”

He hears his own voice laughing at him. The shifter shakes his head and smirks back at him. “There I was, minding my own business, trying to get by in another shitty town, and then I see you and your brother.” The shifter leans his head against Castiel’s face, lips pulling up into a grin. “Who knew the great, famous Dean Winchester could ever have feelings. I sure as hell was surprised. Ya know everyone thinks you are a coldhearted killing machine? But then I got inside your _skin_ -saw inside that beautiful fucked up mind of yours- and found out how many feelings you really do have. How much _more_ than family you really want your angel to really be.” Dean licks his lips, eyes darting up at Castiel’s quickly, then back at the shifter. “Doesn’t it just piss you off that I got to kiss those lips before you? I got to know what he tastes like before you could even let those balls drop to do it. Doesn’t it just piss you off to know I’ve-well, you, really- technically ruined him?” He lets out a chuckle and winks at Dean. “And any chance of anything for the future?”

The shifter nuzzles into Castiel’s neck. Dean grinds his teeth together, glaring at the shifter. He grips his Blade tighter as Castiel tries to move his face away only to let out a breathless whimper as the blade pushes against his neck. “I bet angel boy here can’t even look at you anymore without remembering that night. Bet you wished you knew filthy he sounds with your dick in his ass, hm? He must hate himself every damn second knowing how truly messed up you made him. You must be the most disgusting thing to him. You’re always there, haunting him with memories. You became the monster. Man…that must hurt something bad.” He throws his head back briefly, letting out a deep throated laugh.

“But do you know what I think might hurt worse? Walking in and seeing the one person in this world you _love_ -even more than your damn brother-dead. Past saving. Believe me, I know that feeling.” He sighs standing up straighter. “But you had to go and ruin that.” The shifter shrugs, looking back at Castiel. “I guess I’ll settle with you watching him die.”

Dean can’t hold back the deep red pulsing around his vision anymore. All he feels is hate and rage. All he wants is to see the shifters blood staining his hands, pooling on the floor, and watching the life drain from his eyes. He craves being drenched in the shifters blood so bad his mouth is watering for it. He glances up at his angel’s face, letting the darkened ruby color return.

Dean lets out a deep throated growl as Castiel pulls forward onto the blade, and then slams his head back connecting with the shifters. The shifter’s grip around Castiel loosens as he stumbles backwards, his hand with the angel blade slipping away from his angel. Dean lunges forward raising his Blade as Castiel collapses onto the floor. He feels energy buzzing through his veins in anticipation of slicing his Blade across his own mirrored image’s neck. A flicker of movement from the shifter in front of him sends a warning hum throughout Dean’s body. He watches a flash of the blade glint of the sunlight that has snuck in, right before it dives into in his chest.

The red melts away from Dean’s vision suddenly. He gasps at the sudden loss of the blood colored tint. An alien feeling of a new kind of pain begins to blossom in his chest. He stares in front of him, his own green eyes staring back. He tries to say something, but his mouth refuses to function correctly. All he can feel is the alien pain becoming uncomfortably intense as it starts to spread throughout his whole torso. Dean tries to take in a breath to collect himself, and the pain in his chest becomes agonizing. His Blade suddenly feels too heavy, and his fingers too weak to hold it anymore. Dean lets it slip from hold, falling to the floor. He hears a muffled scream somewhere, but it doesn’t sound right. It almost sounds like the voice is underwater.

Dean wants to scream at the amount of unfathomable pain spreading over his chest. It feels like he was tossed into a fire, and just his insides are burning. It feels like someone is squeezing his throat making it more difficult for him to get any more than little pockets of air in. The shifter leans forward against Dean’s body, forcing a breathless, shaky gasp past his lips at his weight. Blackness threatens the edges of his vision, instead of the usual red he had grown accustomed to. Dean feels a strong urge just to lie down and pass out until the pain goes away. “That’s for my beautiful kitsune, Amy, and her son you left motherless.”

The shifter pulls back away from Dean’s body, sliding the angel blade slowly out with him. Without the shifters weight supporting him, Dean falls to his knees. His body screams for more air, and he tries to breathe in slowly but chokes on something wet blocking his throat. The shifters legs disappear in front of him, leaving only the white of the wall in front of him to blink in silence at. The agonizing pain in his chest seems to have faded, slightly, leaving it a numbing cold beginning to spread.

Somewhere inside him he knows he should checking on Castiel, but an exhaustion deeper than he’s ever felt before is threatening to take him under. He can feel the cold spreading over his body, slowly starting to douse the fire burning its way through his insides. Dean feels his eyes growing heavy, and lets them fall closed.

Something warm is holding onto his shoulders, chasing away the cold inside him. He feels his body falling forward onto a solid mass of the warmth. A dull throb of pain seeps back into the places the cold has melted away. Dean wants to pull away from the person who’s allowing his pain to return. He just wants to rest.

“No! Dean, look at me! No, no, no Dean! Open your eyes! OPEN YOUR EYES!” A panicked, familiar voice breaks through Dean’s heavily fogging mind.

He struggles to make his eyes listen to his command to open, letting out a raspy breath at the effort. Dean forces them open after another difficult attempt, and instantly meeting his angel’s wet, bright unearthly blue eyes.

Dean feels a heavy pressure pushing against his chest, and squeezes his eyes back closed at the discomfort. He briefly wonders why everything isn’t as painful anymore, but the thought quickly dissolves as the cold begins to spread to the edges of his mind.

“It’s okay, Dean. Everything is going to be okay. But you have to look at me!” Dean feels something warm breaking through the numbing cold spider webbing over his face. The heavy warmth pressing into him feels nice, save for the annoying pain attempting to flame back up. He wants to lean into it, but his body doesn’t seem to be listening to him anymore. Dean wonders if that should maybe that should concern him, but pushes the thought away. He is just too fucking exhausted to care.

“No no no! Look at me, damnit! You’re going to be fine! You don’t get to die!”

Dean forces his heavy eyes to flicker back open again. The simple movement alone is draining. Castiel’s eyes are now bloodshot, face wet with tears, and his lips are trembling. Dean’s slowly numbing mind puts together that Castiel’s hand is holding his face and that has been where the warmth is coming from. He blinks slowly trying to focus on his surroundings. He really just wishes he could just close his eyes for a minute longer. Dean eyes catch a ray of sunlight coming from the curtain behind Castiel, and he tries to figure out when his body was moved and turned around. Dean forces his eyes to stay open and glances down at his chest only to see something soaking wet with blood, pushed against his blood soaked shirt.

Everything that has happened what feels hours ago, but more than likely moments ago, hits him. He is dying. He is dying by his own hand, in a way. He couldn’t even keep his word to his angel. It doesn’t even hurt this time, not really. He tries to chuckle at the thought of how many times he’s really died, but only a garbled wet noise reaches his ears.

“You’re going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine, now. Listen to me, the shifter left. He’s gone.” Castiel’s voice breaks as he lowers his head, body beginning to shake with sobs.

Dean watches helplessly as his angel’s face crumble into pure brokenness in front of him. He’s never wanted to hold and comfort his angel so badly in his life, and swears he can feel his own heart burning inside him with the want. He tries desperately to make his arms move to reach out and wrap his arms around him, but they don’t seem to work anymore. The desire to pull his angel into his chest, run his hands through his hair, and wipe away those tears is almost so painful the fire he felt in his chest can’t even compare. Dean feels something warm running down his cheeks, as he tries to make his tongue work inside his mouth, but all that comes out is a ragged breath.

“You don’t get to die!” Castiel lifts his face back up, eyes boring into Dean’s with so much raw emotion he wants to look away. “I can’t save you, Dean! I can’t heal you!” Castiel looks behind him quickly, yelling at the room. “Someone…someone help! Please!” Another sob escape his lips, as Castiel turns back, searching his eyes.

Dean feels more pressure being pushed against his chest, and dimly realizes that that is almost the only thing he can feel. He can’t really feel anything anymore, except the smallest warmth of Castiel hand on his face. Dean can’t even feel the cold, but his head feels too foggy and exhausted to really dwell on it. It’s too exhausting to keep his head raised anymore, and Dean lets it fall forward. Castiel’s hand gently raises it back up; his wet, terrified eyes burning into Dean’s. “Please, fuck, Dean! Hang on, please!” The pressure on his chest leaves, and he feels his face being cupped and held up with both his angel’s hands.

Dean wants to close his eyes and sink into the comforting feeling of Castiel’s fingertips rubbing and brushing over his face. Another shaky sob leaves his angels lips, as Castiel’s body begins to shake with more. Dean tries to make his body move to comfort Castiel again, but nothing responds. Dean stares up into his blue eyes trying to will his thoughts and wants into Castiel’s mind. “Please don’t make me do this without you…I…I can’t do this without you, Dean. I don’t know a world without you, anymore.”

“Cas…” Dean whispers out, half surprised his voice is working. He tries to breathe in some air, but only manages to make his body start breathlessly coughing up something wet, thick and coppery tasting. It fills his mouth and he forces out another cough to push the liquid out of his mouth, dripping down his chin. He tries, again, to take in a breath, but it feels as if his throat has swollen closed; air only allowed to pass through an opening of a straw “I’m-I’m sorry I didn’t keep my word.” He whispers, trying to gasp in more air. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“No, no, Shhh, you didn’t hurt me Dean. You saved me okay? You have to stay with me, now though, alright? It’s going to be fine.” Castiel rests his forehead against his. Dean feels something wet drip onto his face, as Castiel’s shaky breath ghosts across his lips.

“He’s right.” Dean forces out the barely audible words. He desperately tries to take in more air, but now his lungs seem to become more unresponsive. “Couldn’t… watch you die. Would’ve…destroyed me.”

“Save your strength. It’s going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.” Castiel pulls back, eyes glancing quickly down to his chest and then back up to his face. A miserable, broken noise sips past his lips as his body begins to tremble. “Just…hang on, please.”

“Just let me-“ Dean gags at the lack of oxygen as a breathless cough rips through him, forcing his body to jerk violently at its own accord. He feels his eyes go wide, gasping unable to get anything more than a sip of air. “I love you, Cas.”

Dean watches Castiel let out a mixture between a sob and a laugh. The blackness that has been pulsing around the edges of his vision begins to spread over like a drop of ink fallen onto a piece of paper, threatening to overtake it. He wants to shake it away, but can no longer feel anything. Not even his angel’s touch. Everything is just a peaceful nothing, wrapping up him and his exhausted body just begging for him to rest.

“I love you too, Dean.” Castiel whispers.

Dean stares up into Castiel’s blue eyes, wanting to fall into their depth. The blackness spreads fully over his vision slowly, taking away his angel’s blue. He feels the last of all his air breathe over his lips in silent sigh. Maybe now he can just rest. He thinks he hears Castiel’s voice screaming, but the muffled voice fades away too quickly to think about. He’s much too exhausted to want to return to it, anyway. It’s quiet now. Peaceful. There isn’t any pain. There isn’t any cold. There isn’t anything, really. He doesn’t feel a damn thing.

~ ~ ~

Crowley sits on an uncomfortably stiff chair staring at a pool of blood steadily staining the disgusting beige motel carpet. It’s an improvement, really. His phone buzzes for the hundredth time in his inside pocket. He really should silence the wrecked thing. His eyes move upwards to rest upon the blood soaked Winchester lying far too still in front of him.

“Your angel, bless his human soul, is calling me as I speak. To make a deal-bring you back. It’s all become so…” The King of Hell rolls his eyes waving a hand in front of him. “Expectant.” With a thought, the phone becomes silent. He adjusts himself on the chair, resting his arms across the arms of the chair.

“You have to believe me. When I suggested you take on The Mark of Cain, I didn’t know this was going to happen.” Crowley shakes his head to himself. “Not really. I mean, I might not’ve told you the entire truth…But I never lied. I never lied, Dean. That’s important. It’s fundamental.” He glances back at the blood soaking into the carpet, sighing. “But there is one story about Cain that I might’ve…forgotten to tell you.” Crowley leans back against the chair, eyes resting back onto the man in front of him. “Apparently he, too, was willing to accept death rather than becoming the killer the Mark wanted him to be. So he took his own life with the Blade. He died. Except, as rumor has it, the Mark never quite let go.”

Crowley reaches into his jacket and pulls out the forgotten Blade he had picked up off the floor moments ago. “You can understand why I never spoke of this.” He turns it over in his hands, running his fingers over the teeth, feeling out the weight of the old bone. It appears fairly light considering about all the power it truly contains. “Why set hearts aflutter at mere speculation?”

He pushes himself off the chair and walks slowly towards the bed, delicately holding the Blade in front of him. “It wasn’t until you called me…No, it wasn’t truly until you left the cheeseburger uneaten…” He places the handle of the Blade in Dean’s lifeless hand, folding his fingers around it.” That I began to let myself believe...” Crowley bends Dean’s arm so that the Blade lies across his chest, clutched in his cold fingers. “That maybe miracles do come true.”

The demon stands back, eyes scanning the man’s face. “Listen to me, Dean Winchester. What you’re feeling right now is not death. It’s life. A new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. Let’s go take a howl at that moon.”

A moment passes. Crowley watches for any type of movement from the body lying on the bed in front of him. After another breath, he watches Dean’s eyes open. A smile spreads across his face as he stares into his black eyes.

“Welcome back, Dean.” He says watching the demon beginning to rise from the bed. “Let’s go have some fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos give me a high! Let's light it up.  
> 


	9. Work Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Work Song, by Hozier_
> 
> Loves, I'd like to first start out by apologizing for life.  
> My grandfather died. I was out of town for a bit with two ridiculously crazy kids in a small hotel room. Then we had a school shooting, and my daughter was a hot mess for awhile. And then my other daughter got sick. And then I got sick..Other things piled up, but you get the gist.  
> I have been writing when I have a chance to breathe. I branched out for awhile and started working on an a/b/o, but decided it was shit, and stopped that disaster.  
> Regardless, I am sorry. Life is being a big bag of dicks right now.  
> Without further ado, the next chapter.

Four months, twelve days and five hours.

He could give the seconds, if anyone ever asked, time meant nothing for angels. He had been through a millennia of moments; from witnessing wars, famine, heartache, death, sadness and thinking nothing of it. He noticed no real stall or endlessness to the tragic things around him. It simply just is, was, and will always be. His knowledge, even now as human, still remained infinite. Both a curse and a blessing, he never forgot nor could forget anything.

Time is ever moving forward without taking into account humanity’s emotions or feelings. He never understood how or why his Father’s creations felt after they lost someone they loved. It simply just was the way it was suppose to be. Death always followed life; everyone had their time. No matter how hard you tried to prevent it, or postpone it, there was no hiding from it. He didn’t understand how humans couldn’t grasp this concept over the course of forever.

Until now.

Castiel had knelt on the blood soaked carpet, cradling Dean’s lifeless body for what felt like hours-days even. He had prayed to his Father to bring him back; screamed for his brothers and sisters to help him. No one answered him, or maybe he didn’t wait long enough. He couldn’t, and will never, be sure. All he knew in that moment was he couldn’t lose both Winchester’s. It was the only thing he knew Dean would want from him was to protect his brother.

He had somehow summoned enough strength to carry Dean off the floor, and laid him onto the bed. He still is not quite sure how he managed to get Sam into the back of the Impala. Sam, later, had claimed it was a mixture of shock and adrenaline, which sounds fairly plausible given the situation.

How he arrived at the hospital in one piece can only be deemed a miracle itself. One hand was on the wheel keeping the car partially on the road, while the other was constantly hitting the redial button. If Heaven wouldn’t answer or help him, Hell was the only answer. Crowley had gotten Dean into this situation, and he would know how to get him out. He would deal away his grace forever if it meant bringing back Dean.

After hours waiting and a dead cell phone tossed somewhere behind him, Sam had finally awoke in a hospital bed with just a concussion, some stitches, and a dislocated shoulder popped back into place. He immediately asked about the shifter. It took every ounce of leftover strength he had left in himself just to explain to the younger Winchester what had happened. Sam’s eyes never strayed from his as they filled with betrayal, hurt, and then anger. The coldness of the stare still haunted Castiel’s nightmares, always reminding him of the disappointment he has become.

Sam had ripped out his iv and demanded to see his brother. Without hesitation Castiel handed the keys over to the younger Winchester, and in retrospect, the haunted look that ghosted his face should have meant something more then. Castiel tried to ignore the dangerous speed that Sam was driving by informing him that Crowley was not answering his calls. All his words were met with silence.

When they opened the motel door and saw Dean’s body gone, as well as the First Blade, Sam fell apart. Castiel could only stand there, staring at the empty bed, unable to feel or process anything. (Later, he would understand this to be another symptom of shock. Sam also mentioned something about him “being numb”.) After seconds, hours, days (all time was blurring the lines of reality), Sam collected himself enough to throw all their things into the Impala and start their beginning journey through countless blurred towns.

The first month they had tried relentlessly in any way they knew possible to summon or contact Crowley. Having no luck whatsoever, days became a blur of countless places holding no real relevance to him. They looked for any sign of demonic activity, always coming with nothing. Sam had hesitantly questioned about Crowley taking Dean’s body to use for his own purposes, simply “throwing out there” that Dean had the Mark, so maybe Crowley thought he could use it. Possibly possess Dean with some random demon, thus having the demon carry the Mark. Castiel had let the brother ramble on with his thoughts, unable to let him know the truth of the situation.

Castiel usually forgot to eat, or maybe he really didn’t care, whichever the case, his weakening body only continued to grow worse. Sam’s pity grew more and more strained towards the end of a month’s mark of Dean’s death. Pity was replaced with frustration that Castiel couldn’t even blame him for. He was frustrated with himself more days than not, but Castiel couldn’t even begin to care. He began tuning out Sam’s lectures on how to take care of himself, and how he needed to “take it easy”.

After two months of fruitless searching, Sam suggested they find a place to stay semi-permanently. Sam tried to explain it would be healthier for him, and he would “recover better”-whatever that means- if they weren’t on the road as much. Recovery never came. He stayed in a never ending cycle of cold sweats, nightmares, coughs, dizzy spells, and never ending weakness. The idea of eating made his stomach turn sour, but he forced himself nonetheless. He did understand the significance of eating to keep the human body alive.

It was two months, twenty-three days, and seven hours that a back-of-the-mind thought Castiel had been pushing aside finally rose to the forefront of his mind. Was he dying? His human vessel had been sustained by his grace. Without his grace, his body must be slowly, but steadily, shutting down.

As quickly as the thought entered, he tossed it away.

Sleep offered him no solitude. Dreams-no, memories- of holding and rocking Dean’s blood-soaked body tightly against him taunted his sanity. Could angels go insane? But, he would remind himself, he wasn’t really an angel, anymore.

He’d wake up to either Sam shaking him or his own screams, he was never quite sure which. His throat would be raw, tears cascading down his face, looking around the room trying to find his Righteous Man. It took less and less time to realize he would never be there, but the pain of reliving his death every night never seemed to dwindle.

Attempting to accompany Sam on cases became close to impossible. He looked “like death”, Sam had said on more than one occasion, even in a suit. Castiel’s mind always wandered elsewhere, and knew he was more of a burden than anything. But honestly, he couldn’t bring himself to care. After two months and twenty-four days since Dean’s death, Sam nonchalantly threw out that maybe his efforts would be better helped at “home” doing research. Castiel had nodded in agreement, and rolled back over in bed ignoring the younger brother sighing again. (All he ever does anymore is sigh at him.) That was the first time Sam had left him alone to work a case a few states away.

It has been a long time since Castiel had a place to call home, if he ever had. Even before he fell, Heaven has long since lost the name or meaning, if it had ever truly held it. He supposed he never really understood the word in its entirety until Dean. His Righteous Man not only became his charge, his human, but he became his home. His entire purpose had become and was for, one man. He understood now, more than ever, home wasn’t just a place. Home was a feeling. A feeling woven deeper than any man known words could explain, and he had put them inside his Righteous Man.

And he had lost him.

Demons seemed to have vanished completely after Dean’s death and Crowley taking the body. Castiel had long since lost the desire and willpower, to help Sam on the field with any other monster. He would sit here, at their current residence, and search the internet, police files, newspapers, FBI database, weather patterns, cattle deaths, and any other form of outside communication trying to find something remotely appearing demonic. Occasionally Sam would call to ask for help on whatever case he was on, and Castiel would give him information needed to the best of his ability. They conversations were kept short and very formal.

When Sam would occasionally ask how he is doing, he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Castiel knew he should try and talk to Sam about how he was doing, but the words were always lost on his tongue. As far as the younger brother was aware, Castiel had only just lost a friend.

Dean was never only _just_ a friend, even before he fell. He had saved and claimed Dean Winchester’s soul from Hell. His true form through grace had left a branded reminder on Dean’s flesh of what was his. His very essence- his grace- had been woven, merged, and fused with his soul on his battle out of the Pit. Their bond between the two of them from that moment on was deeper and more profound than any human mind could grasp. Belonging to someone, forever, beyond flesh and bone was simply unfathomable to the simple mind of man.

He hadn’t told Sam about the details of Dean’s last moments, for whatever reason, it seemed too personal to mention them. It felt as if his last words were something private, like a secret only for himself and Dean to share. Sam never pushed for anything more than what Castiel offered on the subject, but still he wondered what the brother thought when he’d wake up screaming with Dean’s name on his lips.

Sam buried himself in job after job, leaving for longer stretches of time. Castiel couldn’t blame him for wanting an escape away from him. He was the definition of pathetic, and truly a useless burden he was towing around. Hunting and losing themselves in cases was always the Winchester way of working through things, though. With Crowley unreachable, there truly seemed nothing left to do until he reached out or surfaced again.

After four months, twelve days, and six hours waking up isn’t as difficult. It simply just, _is_. Castiel could tell by the absence of noise from outside the bedroom door, Sam is still away on his latest case. A man who had killed his family three years ago was found dead, he remembers Sam saying before he left. He had seemed excited about it, but then again, Sam always seemed excited about these types of leads. He had left a note on top of Castiel’s laptop encouraging him to look into this case. He stubbornly had taken off the post it note, and stuck it beside his laptop, setting a coffee mug on top of it. It doesn’t really matter either way. It’s never a demon, possession, or something closely related to what they are looking for. It is just another dead end filling the void of something else _missing_.

Castiel shifts on the uncomfortable wooden chair, scrolling through another online newspaper article about a missing person. This one, just like the last hundreds he’s looked through, it is always more human related than anything supernatural. A shiver shakes through his body as he reaches for his, now, luke warm cup of coffee. He gulps it down anyway. He places the empty cup somewhere beside his laptop, and gets up, and stumbles into the bedroom to retrieve his blanket off the bed.

Four months, twelve days and seven hours.

He retreats back to the wobbly table, comforter wrapped tightly around his shoulders as a cough rips through his lungs. Castiel barely makes it to the chair before he collapses over himself trying to catch his breath. Humans are truly miserable creatures, how can they stand to be in their own skin? Everything seems to be a threat to their immune system and body. Just waking up in the morning and carrying on with daily bodily functions and needs is exhausting.

Sitting up and leaning back against the chair, Castiel takes in a shaky breath of chilled, stale air. It’s a wonder he can’t see his breath, and debates about turning up the heat. He eyes the thermostat on the wall by the door, and weighs the pros and cons of moving to raise the temperature. With a sigh, he decides against it, knowing he will just be soaking in sweat soon enough. He turns back to the open laptop trying to decide where to continue his search.

Castiel eyes catch the bright yellow corner of the day old post-it note sticking out from under his empty coffee cup. He reaches over, moving the cup off to the side, and grabs it. He runs his thumb over the hastily scribbled note from Sam about his current lead. The man’s name is underlined twice, and looks as if Sam had pushed his pen down hard enough to break through the paper. Still, something inside him has been pulling at him to look up the name, Drew Neely. He shouldn’t do this to himself, he knows he shouldn’t. It is never anything more than just a hopeless “what if”, or “could’ve been”.

“Screw it.” Castiel mumbles, laying the paper beside his computer.

Accessing various databases not meant for the public’s eye hadn’t been as difficult as he had originally thought. Sam had taught him within a few weeks time on how to hack into whatever he needed without being noticed or discovered. Sam made it very clear on how important it was that he follows his steps exactly, that way they could never be traced.

Castiel taps his foot impatiently (a terrible human habit he’s developed), typing in the desired information to access information on Drew Neely. Castiel debates, again, about turning up the temperature as he watches the page load. He pulls the comforter around his body tightly, only letting enough space through for his arm to slide out.

The file on Andrew Neely is small. The report starts from his hometown in Athens, Ohio and simply states the facts of the death of his family. Andrew’s finger prints found on the weapon, as well as his bloody footprints leading away from the scene, along with the car being left in the garage. The report continues on showing images of his wife and children’s gruesome deaths, going into detail about their stab wounds, what ultimately ended their lives, and finally their time of death. A statement from a neighbor was added on, almost like an afterthought. The neighbor, by the name of Cynthia Logan, states that the family was “a bit odd, and very serious about their religious beliefs. Even still, I just never thought someone like Drew would do something like this.” It ends with stating his whereabouts are unknown, and the case has grown cold.

Castiel opens up the attached page and begins to read a hastily written paragraph from the Amherst Junction Sheriff Office. A John Doe, who was murdered about a week ago, turns out to be Andrew Neely. After missing for three years, the case can finally be closed. Castiel tilts his head, eyeing a video document labeled “Gas-N-Sip Footage”. He clicks on it, and huddles under his blanket while he waits for it to load.

A black and white image of a dark dressed man flipping through a porn magazine wearing a trucker hat begins to load. He is leaning against the rack of magazines as another man walks up behind him and pulls out an angel blade. Castiel feels the hair begin to rise on the back of his neck as he stares at the trucker hat man, unable to look away. _No, it can’t be._ He leans forward in his seat letting his comforter fall off his shoulders as he stares unblinking at the screen as the video switches over to another camera. The man in the hat is slowly walking through the store as the man with the angel blade, he presumes to be Drew Neely, approaches behind him.

Castiel squints his eyes, trying to will the camera to angel downward so he can see the man’s face for confirmation on his assumption. He begins to chew on his bottom lip, trying to convince himself it is who he thinks it is. Deep down inside, he knows who belongs to that body. He remade that body. He has long since memorized every movement he can make to every freckle on sprinkling his skin.

The man in the hat spins around, grabbing Drew’s wrist, raising it above his head. Castiel watches as Drew is punched in the chest, then the blade is hit free from his hand. The dark dressed man tosses Drew into a rack of paper towels and he falls off camera. The man pulls out a curved blade from behind his back, and walks halfway off camera to where Drew must lay. Castiel’s eyes widen as the man raises his arm, leans down, and begins stabbing or slicing the man multiple times.

After the man is satisfied, he stands up slowly, finally letting the camera see his face, he looks at something, or someone in front of him. _Dean._ Castiel lets out a shaky breath trying to calm his blood pounding in his ears. He watches as Dean flips the First Blade in his hands, turning around and saunters over to the scattered paper towels. He bends down and retrieves his magazine, brushing something off of it. Castiel grips the edge of the table as Dean begins to walk forward, heading to the edge of what the camera captures. At the last moment, he looks up at the camera.

_ Dean. _

Castiel jerks his shaking hand forward to the keys, pausing the video footage. He stares at the face of the man he watched die in his arms months ago, yet barely a moment’s time ago. So many mixtures of emotions rush through him all at once; relief, hurt, anger, and sadness. He hesitantly rewinds the footage and plays it again, watching everything more closely than the last time.

He watches all of Dean’s movements adamantly, trying to notice anything slightly off. If anything, they seem more precise, faster even, somehow. He slows the speed down, eyes straining to see his face once more. Castiel pauses the footage right as Dean stands up from killing Drew. A chill shakes his body as he stares at the screen with a mixture of horror and shock. Dean’s black eyes stare back at him. Castiel fumbles over the keys but finally manages to press the button to continue the footage slowly. He watches as Dean’s eyes slowly slide back to normal.

Possession. That’s the only answer. Crowley must have taken Dean’s body, and put one of his demons in him. He must have thought by doing this, he could control the Blade and it’s power. Castiel sits back in his chair, drawing in a deep breath that tickles his lungs. He fights down a cough, trying to stay focused on the situation at hand. From what he knows about the First Blade and the Mark, possession of the body will not work. The Mark is bonded not only to the body, but to the soul. They are an unbreakable connection. Surly Crowley must know this. He has enough knowledge of rare, forgotten items himself. He even spoke with Cain.

He breaks his vision away from the screen to his cell phone. Sam must have seen this same footage, but why didn’t he wake him up and tell him? Castiel’s forehead furrows as he reaches out and wraps his fingers tightly around the cold, hard plastic. If this was about finding and retrieving Dean’s body, why didn’t Sam want to accompany him? Hasn’t this been what they’ve been waiting and searching for?

Castiel scrolls through his short list of contacts to Sam’s name, and hits send. He sits back in the chair listening to the phone ring loudly in his ear. On the fourth ring, he hears faintly hears the younger brother’s voice.

“Sam?” Castiel pushes the phone harder into his ear.

“Sorry, I’m here. Reception is kind of spotty here.” Muffled voices suddenly cut off as Castiel hears the sound of a door shutting in the background.

“I watched the video footage from the gas station that the Sheriff’s office acquired.” His eyes glance back to the screen with Dean frozen, walking away.

“What did you think?” Sam breathes.

“It is, um…” Castiel looks away from the screen and over to the post-it note lying on the table. “You knew, Sam.”

The brother sighs over the phone. “I had my thoughts about everything, yea. You see the eyes?”

“I did.” He squints at the paper making it blur. “Why didn’t you wake me up? I don’t understand-“

“Cas, listen.” He hears rustling in the background. “Everything that happened was a few days ago. Dean-or whatever damn demon in his body-probably isn’t even in the area anymore. Once I get something more than just some video footage I am defiantly going to let you know.”

Everything on the table has blurred into a mixture of colors and shapes. Castiel’s eyes begin to burn with dryness from unblinking. He squeezes his eyes closed, rubbing them roughly. _Weak, useless, pathetic human. No one has any need for him. Completely worthless._

“I can help. I could be there-“A cough he has been holding back sneaks up his throat, sending him wheezing and gasping for air for his burning lungs. He tries to collect himself enough to stifle the coughs. His eyes water from the scratchy, harsh barks racking through his body.

After a few minutes he hears Sam sigh over the phone. “I know you want to help, Cas. Listen, there probably isn’t anything here. I’ve already been into the station, talked to the guys about everything. Now I’m just heading over to the Gas-N-Sip to talk to the clerk. So far I’ve got nothing. I mean, we know it was whoever is in Dean’s skin, but…” Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose trying to bite back his anger.

“I know you miss him, okay? I miss him too. Losing your grace, what happened to you, watching Dean…I’m sorry you’ve had to go through so much, Cas. He was your best friend.” He hears the Impala start up over the phone. “I lost my brother and my only family… I lost him too. It’s been hell for both of us. We’re going to get his body back, and figure a way out of this. But until I get something more, there’s no point in you coming along. You just need to be worrying about yourself. Focus on getting better. You don’t need to come with me for nothing.”

Castiel stares at his empty coffee cup in front of him, listening to the rumbling of the Impala through the phone. He should be with him. He shouldn’t be confined in a house like some caged animal. He should be out there with Sam, searching for Dean. He is worth more than this pathetic life he is leading. Dean deserves more than just him sitting around waiting for the chance to step in.

“Cas…” Sam whispers, barely audible. “Do you think there is any chance that Dean is…”

“Remotely Dean?” Castiel sighs pushing back his chair as he stands up and pads into the bedroom. “You and Dean have taught me that there is always a chance for anything.”

“I’ll call after I’m done with the clerk.” Sam says cutting off the call.

Castiel listens to the line fall silent, and throws his phone onto the bed. He pulls out his duffle bag from under the bed, and begins opening up drawers and filling it clothing. He cannot just wait around for updates. This was the first time in months they had any sign of a demon. This was the first time since his death that they had seen Dean. Neither Heaven nor Hell could keep him from saving Dean. It has always been his mission-his purpose. He refuses to let his humanity rid him of that.

~ ~ ~

Four hours into his drive from Lawrence to Amherst Junction, and Castiel is just outside of Ames, Iowa. The flat, yellowed grassland seems to stretch on without any promise of stopping, and he is having trouble focusing. Whatever road he is on now seems to be barren of cars, and the sun setting to the side of him is doing nothing but blinding him without any remorse. The car he has “borrowed” is steadily growing more and more uncomfortable. Just as he is starting to debate driving the rest of the way verses finding a place for the night, his phone starts to vibrate in his pocket.

Castiel begins to slowly pull over to onto the side of the road, pulling out the phone from his pocket. “Hello Sam.”

“Dean is a demon.” Sam states. Castiel slams his foot on the breaks, his whole body jerking forward over the steering wheel in response.

“His body is possessed by a demon. We assumed this.” Castiel replies hoarsely putting the car in park, and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“No, listen. He _is_ the demon.” Castiel stares out the windshield ahead of him, seeing nothing but darkness threatening to slowly swallow up the world. “Listen, I know I said I’d call after I got done talking to the clerk, but he had the guys phone, and-“

“Wait, his phone? Drew Neely’s phone?” The car suddenly feels like it’s closing in on him. He tries to slowly take in a deep breath but stops halfway through inhaling when a cough threatens to escape.

“The gas station clerk found Neely’s phone by the paper towel rack after everything. Anyway, he handed it over and I called the last number on there.” Castiel throws open the door to the car, stumbling out onto the gravel. He lets the door slam closed behind him, and leans back against the confining metal beast, trying to focus on breathing normally again. “The person that answered-was that a car door?”

Castiel leans his head back, staring up at the purple twilight sky. “It was a car door. Continue, Sam. Who answered?”

“How are you in a car? What are you doing?” Castiel winces at the angry tone Sam shoots back with.

“I am borrowing the car; I have every intention to return it to its owner after I am done.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes closed. “I cannot sit in that room any longer, while you are out following a lead on Dean.”

“He’s not in Wisconsin” He hears the noise of the Impala door squeak over the phone, and Sam sighing. “Crowley answered the phone.”

His eyes shoot open as he gasps in a breath. He hunches over grabbing his sides as a series of coughs escape his throat. “C-C-Crowley?” He sputters through hacks.

“Cas, you really don’t sound that good. Maybe-“

“Crowley had Dean’s body possessed?” He forces out in one breath before barking out some of the last few tickles. Something metallic tasting comes up with the cough, and he spits it out beside me.

He hears Sam sigh again. “Dean is the demon. He isn’t possessed. He is a demon.”

“I don’t understand…” Castiel whispers, staring out across the road, letting everything become unfocused. “Dean died, Sam. I watched him die. His soul should be in Heaven.”

“Crowley made it adamantly clear that it was Dean’s soul inside his own body.” Castiel shakes his head, eyes looking upwards at the beginning of stars filling the sky.

“Why was Neely calling Crowley?”

“I have a feeling he was probably an Abaddon minion trying to get close, and Crowley sent Dean out to do the dirty work.” He hears the sound of the Impala rumbling to life through the phone. “Listen, I know we thought Dean was dead, but what if-“

“’We _thought_ Dean was dead’?” Castiel grips the phone tightly, pushing it painfully harder against his ear. “I _know_ Dean is dead! I watched him bleed out over me and onto the floor, while I sat there unable to heal him or do anything! I watched as his life faded from his eyes! I heard him say his last words! I-“ He shuts his mouth with a loud click of his teeth.

“…You never told me Dean said anything.” Sam whispers. Castiel silently cruses himself for letting his anger get the best of him.

“Dean is dead.” His voice cracks a little, and he pauses to clear it, grimacing at the pain flaring up in his throat. “That is my point. If Dean would have lived, then why would he have left? And to join Crowley, of all people.”

“What I know is what I saw, and what Crowley has told me.” Sam states. Castiel squints back up at the stars. “I traced the call to North Dakota. Some town called Beulah. I’ve been headed that way-“

“I want to speak to Crowley.” A car passes quickly by and Castiel sways at the wind that hits him.

“Cas, listen, maybe you should just-“

“I am not driving back to that house!” He hisses, glaring at the sky. “I am far more capable than you give me credit for, Sam. Imagine if I told you to stay and not go after your brother. Would you? Could you just sit there knowing he was out there, after months of looking, finally finding out that he is out there, and not do anything?”

He hears Sam sigh over the line. Castiel clears his throat, again, trying to push back another cough threatening its way up. “No, I wouldn’t just sit there. What do you expect to do? You were barely able to function the last time we were out together on a lead. I’m not trying to say you’re not capable, but what do you expect to happen _if_ we find Dean?”

Of all the scenarios, Dean being a demon was never one of them. Castiel has only ever thought about bringing his body to rest. Dean would never welcome being a demon. He hunted and killed demons, knowing exactly what kind of creatures they are. To become one wasn’t…It didn’t make any sense. None of this was making any sense.

“I need to speak with Crowley.” Castiel runs a hand through his hair in frustration, and pushing away from the car door. “Dean would never allow himself to be a demon. You, as his brother, have to know this. This isn’t right. This isn’t something Dean would just choose.”

“I never said he would chose this. And I never said it made sense, I just…” He hears Sam sigh again before he reads off the number without warning. “Let me know what you decide after you get done talking to him, okay?”

Castiel ends the call, opening the car door and sitting down on the worn leather seat. He fumbles dialing the number from memory with shaky hands, but manages to get it correct on the first try. The phone rings four times before the sound of many people talking and carrying on hits his ears.

“Silly of me to think I wouldn’t hear from the angel.” Castiel shivers as a gruff voice.

“What have you done to Dean?” Castiel hisses pushing the phone harder to his ear.

“I have done nothing to Dean, that he, himself, did not want done.” He barely hears Crowley chuckle over the loud voices on his end. “I’m disappointed in you, Castiel. Sam is obviously well educated on many things, but this isn’t something that is common knowledge. But you…” He hears a muffle yell and some sort of music start up. “I expected better from an all knowing angel.”

“I swear Crowley, whatever-whoever- you put in Dean’s body I will-“

“Now, now, now Castiel. Calm down. Don’t go on and get all wheezy on my behalf.” The loud background noises cut off, and the line falls eerily quiet. “You aren’t quite thinking quite deep enough.”

Castiel stares at his left hand gripping the steering wheel tightly in the darkness. He uncurls his fingers and flexes them a few times before he responds. “I watched him die. Dean is dead.”

The King of Hell hums in response. “Can’t lose that much blood and live, so I’m told.”

“Then you-“

“Then _I_ did nothing.” Crowley interrupts. “I assure you Dean is very much alive, courtesy of the Mark.”

Castiel sucks in a sharp breath only to bend over laying his head on the steering wheel coughing uncontrollably. It feels as if someone has punched all the air from his lungs, and he tries to gasp in a breath, but his lungs feel like they are on fire. The metallic taste fills his mouth once again. He cracks open the door and spits out a mouthful of the spit. After all this time, how could he have not thought about the possibility? It was only ever just a story of Cain becoming a demon after he took his own life. It was never anything more than just a story, one forgotten and lost in time, but a story nonetheless.

“His soul is still there. A wee bit more twisted, a little more mangled beyond human recognition, but it is all still his.” Castiel can feel the demons smug grin ooze out through the phone. It makes his stomach twist unpleasantly, and he wishes for the hundredth time he had his wings. He’d like nothing better than to appear in front of him, and wipe that smug look off his face.

“The Mark, it…But Dean wouldn’t…” Castiel tries to clear his throat, but it has become too raw and sore. His tongue feels two sizes too big, and sticks to the roof of his dry mouth.

“Your boyfriend has fit into his new self easily. Like riding a bike, you could say. Once you’ve done it a time or two, you never truly forget. He did, after all, have one of the best teachers Hell could offer. He hasn’t seemed to forget any-“

“That isn’t Dean!” Castiel snarls, breathing heavily as he tries to catch his breath. “Cain went for decades without bloodshed. He-“ A cough steals away his breath, and he grips the steering wheel again trying to fight to breathe.

“Castiel. Castiel. Are you upset that this might actually just be who Dean is, and has always been?” He hears Crowley click his tongue. “Now he’s free to be who he’s always been instead of just keeping it locked away, deep inside. I promise you, he’s having the time of his life now that he’s with me.”

“He wouldn’t freely go with you. Not after what you-“

“He’s my best friend. My partner in crime. They’re going to write songs about us; graphic novels. The Misadventure of Growley and Squirrel. Dean Winchester completes me, and that’s what makes you lose your chickens.”

Castiel leans his forehead against his hand that is still gripped tightly around the wheel. His skin feels wet and cool as he presses against them, taking in a shaky breath. He cannot focus on taking in air, while trying to make sense of everything. The confining metal death trap is suffocating, but pacing will do nothing for his current state.

“Whatever black magic you are controlling Dean with, I will break. You are keeping Dean around as a _pet_ in order to do your dirty work.” Castiel spits out. “But I swear to you on my Father and brothers and sisters, I will find Dean, and I will save him. Then I will kill you dead.”

A low chuckle tickles Castiel’s ear. “I really don’t think you’re getting it, Castiel. Well, maybe you have gotten it and are just unwilling to accept it.” The demons voice drops into a low, gruff voice making the hair on Castiel’s arms raise. “Maybe you just can’t stand the fact that he’s mine.”

The line clicks, falling into a deeper silence than when Crowley stepped away from the noise. He knows the demon has ended their call, but he cannot seem to pull the phone away from his face. He hasn’t realized he’s been squeezing his eyes closed until he leans back upright against the back of the seat, prying them open.

Castiel has heard stories of how Cain had died, of course, and had been brought back by the Mark. At the time, he had just tossed them aside as just that, stories. Without any true evidence to such a story, or even a straight answer as to how he died, Castiel hadn’t given it much thought. Until now. Perhaps Cain hadn’t been made into a demon just by Lucifer alone. Maybe it took him dying for the Mark to truly take hold. Until then, Cain had been just as Dean was. Unable to control the Mark’s hold on him, drunk on bloodlust and impulses.

He groans, slowly taking the phone away from his face. He knows he needs to call Sam back and tell him what he is doing, but he has a nagging feeling the younger brother will just try and talk him out of it. With everything he is trying to battle with, the question still stands to how, after all these centuries; Cain has been able to withstand the Mark’s want for bloodlust. That thought alone brings up many more thoughts and questions.

He looks down at his phone, slowly pulling up the gps again. He changes the location to Beulah, North Dakota and glances at the route. Castiel groans at time estimated, silently wishing he had his grace. He throws his phone aside, and pulls back out onto the road, letting his thoughts keep him awake.

~ ~ ~

Castiel passes the “Welcome to Beulah!” sign just as the sun is rising. To his surprise, Sam had yet to call. His eyes are so heavy he is amazed he made it the whole way without falling asleep and crashing the car. He pulls over to the first motel he sees, uncaring of how rundown it seems. Castiel stumbles out of the car, and drags himself into the office. A gray haired woman sitting at the desk jumps to her feet, startled, as he trips over the slight rise of the floor. Castiel swears under his breath as the older woman raises an eyebrow at him.

“You ‘right, son?” She asks with a hint of chuckle behind her words.

Castiel steadies himself, sighing heavily. “Fine. I need a room.” He pulls out a credit card from the inside pocket of his jacket Sam had given him months ago, and hands it to the woman.

“You look like the dead.” The lady says, turning around to pull a key off the board of hooks behind her. “Rough night?”

He grunts leaning heavily against the desk, forcing his eyes to stay open just a little bit longer. Standing feels good after hours of driving all night. Castiel isn’t quite sure how he made it all night, only stopping twice to refuel. He hasn’t slept in more than twenty-four hours, and his body is aching for rest. How did Sam and Dean live like this? Human bodies required so much maintenance and sustaining it is irritating.

“Here ya go, honey. Room Eleven.” The woman’s voice and the clatter of keys break Castiel from his thoughts.

He slips the credit card back into his pocket, and grabs the keys. Castiel pushes himself off the desk and walks slowly out of the door towards his room. He gets his door unlocked right as his phone starts vibrating in his pocket. Castiel groans again, kicking the door closed behind him as he digs into his pocket for his phone.

He presses the green button without bothering to look at the caller id. “I am exhausted, make this quick Sam.”

“Mornin’ to you too, Cas.” Sam huffs over the line. “I know you well enough to know you are still planning to head out here. But I just wanted-“

“I am already here.” Castiel walks over to the bed and sits down on the edge, toeing his boots off.

He hears Sam’s breathing pause for a beat. “You’re…already in North Dakota.”

“I am already in Beulah. I am rather exhausted from driving all night, so please get to your point.” Castiel kicks away his shoes and falls backwards onto the bed.

“You drove all night-of course you drove all night!” Castiel closes his eyes and throws an arm over his face trying to block out any excess light he can. “What were you thinking! You don’t even know where they are! I don’t-“

“I was sure you would have either informed me when you called, or shown me when we met up.” He yawns into the phone.

“You’re too weak to go at this alone. I’m sorry Cas, but seriously. Taking on a demon by yourself? You can barely stand up half the time. Do you even have a plan, or are you just going to-“

“If you have just called to scold me about my decision, can it wait until I have gotten a few hours of sleep? Maybe then I will actually care about your opinion.” He peeks out from under his arms at a stream of light sneaking its way inside the room.

Sam lets out a frustrated laugh. “I forgot how much of a dick you are when you’re tired. I’m in some town just outside of the North Dakota line. I can be there in a few hours.”

“Splendid. I look forward to it.” Castiel brings the phone down and ends the call.

He lays the phone down on the table beside him, and rolls over on his side facing away from the window. As exhausted as his body is, sleep seems just a fingertips brush away. He takes in a careful shaky breath, and exhales in a few gentle coughs. Castiel wants to blame the lack of exhaustion from swallowing him whole on his restless thoughts. Deep down he knows the deeper reason. His Righteous Man is in the closest proximity to him that he’s been in months. His body can _feel_ it. Sense it. He should be searching the town for him, not trying to fall asleep in some cheap motel bed. He should be trying to think of a way to save Dean, not letting his breath slowly grow more even.

The last thing Castiel remembers before the darkness takes him under, is Dean looking up into the camera as his eyes slide back from black.

~ ~ ~

_ Castiel is cradling the lifeless, broken, and bloody body of the man he swore to protect in his arms. His sobs echo around the small room, pounding into his skull like a hammer. He has no idea how long he’s been holding the man, rocking him back and forth in a steady heartbeat rhythm. He only knows the man’s body is growing steadily cooler against his chest. _

_ His face burns with tears. Castiel watches as they drip down onto the beautiful man’s face, gathering and pooling together. They collect together enough to spill over the side of the man’s crimson smeared cheek, leaving behind a cherry pink trail of their own behind. _

_ His throat is raw with unanswered screams as he slowly stops rocking, and lowers his Righteous Man’s body away from his chest onto the floor. Castiel’s body shudders out another broken sob as he runs a hand through the man’s hair. He tentatively brushes his fingertips along the man’s cheek, trying to ignore how cold he feels. _

_ Something cold suddenly grasps his wrist, holding it still. It takes Castiel a minute to for his mind to register that the dead man’s own bloody hand is holding on it. The grip tightens, almost painfully, and he watches as the man’s eyes open to nothing but endless black. _

_ “Why didn’t you save me?” The man asks as an inhuman grin twists out over his lips. “Why didn’t you save me, Castiel!?” _

~ ~ ~

Everything seems weightless, and for a moment Castiel swears he is flying again. As quick as the thought enters, it is interrupted when the side of his body slams into something solid and hard. He swings the arm he isn’t currently laying on out in front of him hitting nothing but air. He rips his eyes open to find himself eyelevel with the floor, blurrily starring underneath a bed at some hideous, crusty, yellowish carpet that is digging into his face.

There is an annoying buzzing sound coming from above him, somewhere. He tries to feel for the source by blindly reaching upwards, but it’s just out of reach. His entire body is too stiff and tense to move quick enough to do anything about it further, and the buzzing sound cuts off. Castiel rolls over onto his back, feeling his muscles threatening to cramp in defiance to any and all movements.

The ceiling is full of spider webbed cracks all interlacing together in some form of organized chaos. Off in the far corner by the door, he can make out a dark stain where a leak must be. The sun is still attempting to spill through any and all cracks of the curtain. Judging by the sunlight and how he feels, he couldn’t have slept more than an hour. Possibly two.

The buzzing startles him back into reality, and he sits up slowly, hating every pop his body makes on the way up. He fumbles for his phone that is making the offending noise, and glares at Sam’s name in the caller id.

“According to the time, I have been asleep for barely over an hour. There is no human way you could have possibly made it to this town. ” Castiel grumbles as he pulls himself up to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Crowley wants to meet us in an hour.” Sam yells in his ear. “There is no way I can get to Beulah in an hour!”

Castiel runs a hand down his face trying desperately to fully wake up. His stubble scrapes over his hand reminding him of how unprepared he is for any conscious activities of any kind.

“Are you there? Hello?” He hears a muffled car horn blare through the phone. “Shit!”

“I’m here.” He mumbles, looking around the room. He hadn’t even brought in his bag from the car.

“You’re going to have to meet up with him until I can get there, alright? I can be there in two hours if I push it.” Sam swears again. “You good with this, Cas? If you can’t do this, I totally-“

“I will meet with Crowley.” Castiel glares at the front door, willing himself to get up. “Did he say what this is all about?”

“Just that he needed to meet with us about a problem he’s having.” Sam huffs. “Listen, I know with him taking your grace and Dean this is probably the last thing you want to be doing, but it’s also our closest in to getting Dean back.” Sam sighs into the phone. “I really need to let you go. Traffic is building up, and I need to find a faster route.”

“I’ll just-“ The phone falls into silence. Castiel pulls it away to see the call had ended, and tosses it on the bed behind him.

He rubs his hands over his face trying to force his body to wake up more. Everything Sam has said is true. Seeing Crowley to have a conversation is not something he wants to do, but it is something that he _has_ to do. He would rather run the demon blade into his heart, and smile as the light flickers out of his eyes. Everything could have been different if he had left his grace alone. None of this-any of this- would have happened. Dean would still be alive.

Castiel groans, pushing himself to his feet, and gives the bed a longing look. All he wants to do is fall back onto the bed and forget everything that has happened. He at least wants to sleep for a few more hours before he has to deal with anything. His head is having trouble trying to work out why the King of Hell wants to meet with them at all. After all this time of avoiding them, silence, and lack of demons, and now this?

Castiel opens up the motel door, and flinches as the bright sunlight hits his face. He walks numbly over to the “borrowed” car to retrieve his duffle bag, hand pausing on the handle. Where is he meeting Crowley? Sam never mentioned a location, though he was rather busy dodging traffic and it probably slipped his mind.

Months of pent up shatters though his numbed state and begins to overwhelm him. He hasn’t realized how dazed he has been since the conversation last night. How unwilling he was to actually accept anything that was said, or what he saw. He swings the door of the car open, and yanks out his bag. He doesn’t want to meet with Crowley, let alone help the King of Hell out. He wants to destroy him. He wants to watch the light flicker from his eyes by his own hand. The demon is the reason he is human. Crowley is the reason he is dying. The demon is the reason he was too weakened to save himself. The demon is the reason Dean died. Unless his grace is on the table, Castiel will spit in Crowley’s face if he asks for anything.

As Castiel stomps back into the motel room, he hears his phone buzzing on the bed. He throws his bag beside it, and reaches to answer the phone.

“What?” He snaps, unzipping his bag taking out his toiletries.

“Castiel.” A smug voice replies. “You sound a bit better than last night.”

Castiel tightens his grip on his bag. “Crowley.” He growls the name.

“Moose said he was unable to meet up. Pity, it’s been so long. I thought he’d be in town already, tracing my call and all.” His chuckles sending Castiel’s hair rising over his arms. “Seems you thought finding your boyfriend was of more importance.”

“I swore to you I would do anything to save Dean.” He glances at the time on the clock beside his bed. Barely nine in the morning, Sam had never given a time on the meeting. “When am I meeting with you and where?”

“Oh, as soon as you can get here.” Crowley says nonchalantly. “It’s a quaint little bar called the Black Spur. Right outside of town, can’t miss it.”

The line clicks dead before Castiel can say anymore. He tosses the phone onto the bed again, giving it a dark glare daring it to buzz again. He grabs his entire duffle bag and hurries into the bathroom to get ready.

~ ~ ~

Forty minutes later Castiel pulls into a gravel parking lot of a very western looking bar. He parks beside a dusty looking truck, and steps out, taking in the small area. There are multiple cars scattered throughout different parking areas, which seems odd for the hour of the morning. He tries to think optimistically that maybe they were left here from the night before. Hopefully they aren’t demons. A cool gentle breeze caresses his skin, and he shivers despite the warm sun.

Castiel adjusts the gun tucked into his waistband, resting against his back. He knows the bullets are useless against demons, but they might at least startle them enough to buy him a few seconds to get away if need be. Castiel runs a hand through his cool, damp hair. The cold shower had been his last ditch effort to try and wake himself up. It barely took the edge of exhaustion off. Castiel straightens up, and begins walking over the gravel to the bars’ door.

The door swings open with a loud screech. It takes a few seconds for Castiel’s eyes to adjust to the dimly lit bar. He slowly walks across the floor, his feet making a sickening sound as they partly stick to the floor. He notes that all the tables are empty, chairs set upside down on top of them. His eyes search the room for anyone, or anything, but he finds himself alone. It all seems empty.

The hairs on the back of Castiel’s neck begin to rise as he steps farther into the faintly lit building. The thought passes through his mind that maybe Crowley is testing him. Seeing how far he could make him jump, so to speak. Lead him down one path, while he takes Dean and goes another. Castiel reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He swipes the screen on, and types in Crowley’s number.

“Glad you could make it.”

Castiel spins around, dropping his phone in the process. It bounces and slides across the floor as Crowley leans against the bar, eyebrow cocking in amusement.

“A bit on edge, are we?” He chuckles.

Castiel glares back at the demon. “Where is Dean?”

Crowley sighs exaggeratedly and sits down on a barstool. “Must we always bring up the same thing? He’s off and about doing demon things. Best not to concern yourself.”

“Let me try something new then. Where is my grace?” Castiel takes a step closer, squeezing his hands into fists as Crowley waves to the barstool next to him. Castiel scoffs at his offer. “Sitting next to you is at the very bottom of my list after what you’ve done.”

“Your grace is in the safest place I know, trust me.” His lips twitch into a smirk. “Now how about we get to the reason why I needed an audience with you and Moose, eh?”

Castiel can feel his fingernails pressing into the palms of his hands. He tightens his fists even more, begging for more pain to keep him awake and focused. Crowley eyes flicker quickly down to Castiel’s hands, and then back up to his face. If he would have blinked he would have missed it entirely. With the King of Hell’s smirk still in place, he leans back against the bar, and tilts his head at him.

“You look like hell.” The demon actually sounds halfway concerned.

“And who do I have to thank for that?” He snaps.

“Oh stop it, Castiel.” Crowley brings up both elbows and rests them on the bar behind him, leaning back and relaxing even further. “You were going to help stop evil from taking over the Hell…And the world.”

“You have no need for it!” Castiel yells, rushing forward towards the demon. “You’ve had all this time to return it! You could have returned it, and-“A cough tickles up his throat and past his lips. He hunches over grabbing the side of a table before he falls, hacking and trying to breathe through the barks seeming to scrape up his throat.

His vision begins to spin as he shakily tries to suck in gasps of air without choking on them. His lungs burn painfully inside him, as a thought he’s been pushing away forces its way into the front his mind. He’s been growing weaker for months. Without his grace to sustain him, he might actually be dying. Scratch that, he knows he is dying. Castiel leans heavily into the table, trying to push himself upright. He rubs the palm of his hand against his eyes roughly trying to clear his vision. Darkness starts to creep in on the edges of his vision as he lets out more hoarse coughs rack his body, leaving him breathless, gagging on the coughs, just trying to breathe. Castiel wheezes, shaking his head fiercely trying to push the black stars away.

Castiel hears Crowley click his tongue somewhere in front of him, and tries more slowly to push off the table. A hand grips his left arm roughly, and Castiel lets go of the table, swinging his right hand blindly over to whoever is touching him. Castiel snaps his head up right as he loses balance, legs giving out underneath him, just in time to see Crowley bat his fist away, missing it easily, and catching him under his arms right before his ass hit the ground.

“Don’t touch me!” Castiel pants, trying to push away from Crowley.

“Stop struggling you moron! I’m trying to get you on a bloody chair, not haul you away.” Crowley growls in his ear as Castiel feels himself being half drug, half carried a few feet away.

Castiel squints out in front of him, as the world slowly spins back into focus. He realizes that he is now sitting at the bar on a stool beside the King of Hell. He slowly looks over to the demon, who stares back at him, face blank completely void of any emotion.

“Well, walking and talking seems to be a hazard for you, isn’t it?” Crowley sighs, folding his arms on the bar counter.

Castiel clears his throat, immediately regretting it as he flinches in pain. He rubs his hand over his face, and swallows dryly looking back down at the water stained bar, trying to steady his breathing. “What do you want, Crowley?”

“How would you like to have your grace back?” Crowley asks like he was asking how the weather is outside.

Castiel looks up at Crowley. He opens his mouth to reply, but instead of words laughter spills over his lips. Crowley rolls his eyes which only makes Castiel laugh even harder. The noise is so foreign. When was the last time he laughed? He feels another tickle rising in the back of his throat, and begins to cough through his laughter.

“I fail to see the humor in this.” The demon raises his eyebrow. “Care to share with the class what’s so funny.”

“The one thing that I’ve-we’ve- been after this whole time.” Castiel forces out, breathlessly. He wipes his eyes, trying to calm his breathing as he clears his throat. “You think you can control me with my own grace.”

“I believe your humanity has made you a wee bit more dense than usual. Maybe it’s just the Winchesters in general.” Crowley shrugs. “I need to have a…problem taken care of. Something I’m sure you’ll be able to handle.”

“Let me guess. Take care of the problem for the grace?” Castiel asks, rolling his eyes.

“You’ll need all your angel juice for the problem I’m sure.” Crowley smirks.

Castiel tilts his head at the demon. Something wasn’t right. The King of Hell offering to return his grace-his powers-just like that? After he has his grace back, he could easily take care of Crowley. Nothing would be able to stop him. Something in this whole deal must be making the demon confident that Castiel wont smite him right as he’s an angel again. If being with Sam and Dean for the past years have taught him anything, it is that nothing is ever this easy without a catch.

“What makes you so sure I won’t kill you right after?” Castiel asks, fully sober from moments before.

Crowley chuckles. “Oh, just a feeling I have that you’ll still need me.”

Castiel squints at the demon trying to understand everything that the he is offering. He tries to take apart the words, seeing if there could be any loophole, but it all seems pretty straightforward. “You will return my grace with just my word that I will take care of your ‘problem’?”

“I have no use for your grace, Castiel.” Crowley waves his hand in front of him. “The day the Mark took over Dean, I had just left him to go retrieve it.” He shrugs. “All irrelevant now.”

Castiel feels all the anger he’s carried inside for months, slowly returning from earlier and beginning to make his skin itch. He tries to take in a slow breath to calm his pounding heart. All his thoughts begin to jumble, and blur together. All he can think about is all the “what if’s”. “You…came back…with my grace, but decided to take Dean instead? With my grace?”

“Think about it, for a moment if you will. Everything you know about the old stories of Cain. All true, mind you. Now, seeing him lying on a bed, knowing what you know about those stories, knowing that Dean wears the Mark now. What would you do, Castiel?”

He clenches his jaw, biting back his rage, and stares down Crowley. “You saw an opportunity to have your weapon. You decided to shape him into who you wanted him to be.” He pauses, looking past the demon to nothing in particular. “If you would have left my grace…”

“Oh, how I wish it were that simple.” Crowley sighs. “You know as well as I that demons are who they are without any real guidance. Becoming a demon is just your soul being free to be who you truly are inside, no one to hold you back.” His eyes skim over Castiel quickly. “Dean was trained by the worst of us all. Molded to who he became over years. The evil inside him has always been there, Castiel. Even walls builts to keep those memories away, broke. With the Mark and the Blade, it just…heightens everything. Almost like he’s high on killing, and cannot get enough of the fix.” He shrugs and waves his hand. “Though, if it’s any conciliation, I had no doubt with you having your grace you would have found Dean long before now.”

“Dean isn’t a monster.”

“Isn’t he?”

Castiel turns to face Crowley fully. “No. He isn’t a monster. Even after the pit, he is good. His soul is-“

“Blah, blah, blah.” He dramatically shudders. “We’ve all heard your two’s love story.”

“It isn’t-“

“Who he was in Hell…Those memories, things he did, or were done to him, they never went away, Castiel. Build a wall, bury it in deep, what have you, but it’s still there. Imprinted on his soul. Forming him into who he is, who he’s become.” He looks back over across the bar counter. “I suppose it doesn’t help the Mark and the Blade only craves blood and death. Now that it and Dean are one, imagine the possibilities.”

So many thoughts swirl around Castiel’s mind at once, slowly subduing his anger. He grips the edge of the bar with a hand to try and ground himself. One, Crowley’s problem he needs help with is Dean. Two, Dean is enough of a problem for Crowley to seek help. Three, it might be possible that Dean is past saving.

“Truly, I believed I could suffice his need for killing by having him weed out the twits that still serve Abaddon. That only seemed to barely take off the itch. Bloodshed was what he needed-what he craves- so I had him collect souls that were due.” He smirks to himself, seeming to recall a memory. “That only seemed to pacify him slightly, if even that. He needed direction, Castiel. He needed to be taught how to control his new urges.” Crowley cracks his chin slowly, staring off ahead of him. “If Dean would have woken up with you in the room, I truly believe you would be dead. “

“’Needed’, you keep saying.” Castiel says, narrowing his eyes at Crowley. “You keep speaking of Dean as if he’s…” His throat closes off at the thought. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut, trying to push away the memory of Dean covered in blood, lying in his arms.

“Not dead.” Crowley shifts on the stool, smoothing out his jacket. “I was hoping you and Moose would help with that little problem.”

Castiel’s stares wide-eyed at the King of Hell, mouth agape in a mixture of horror and shock.

“Dean has become…uncontrollable.” Crowley waves his hand dismissively. “All good things must come to an end. Our bromance was fun while it lasted.”

“You want me-us- to kill Dean.” Castiel’s voice barely comes out a whisper.

Crowley gives Castiel steady, unreadable look. He drums his fingers on the counter, and after a long pause, sits up straight. “With a Knight of Hell beside me, I would have no issues with Hell. Ever. With Dean beside me, and all of Abaddon’s minions dead, life would move smoothly. As it should be. He would have his purpose, and I mine.” His lips twitch. “In a perfect world, of course.”

“But you cannot control him.” He states slowly, trying to wrap his head around everything. “Or even guide him in that way?”

“No one can bloody control him.” Crowley snaps. “I sent him out to finalize on a deal, and he killed the man who made the deal, leaving the damn bitch he was suppose to kill, alive! He didn’t even care, mind you, that he broke the contract and lost the soul.”

“So Dean won’t listen to you. Nothing seems different.” Castiel looks down at his hand still white knuckled gripped the bar counter, and lets go.

“Please try and keep up.” The demon sighs. “I was the only one keeping him in line. Making sure he didn’t go off the deep end on some mass murdering killing spree like our dear Father of Murder, Cain. I gave him people to kill who needed killing, and kept him from spiraling out of control. Letting the Mark fully take control. In a way, I kept his last drop of humanity with him.”

“But now-“

“But now it seems that the Mark’s hold on him has completely taken over.” Crowley steps off his stool, and stands in front of Castiel. “Bloodlust is the only drive he has now. He needs to be stopped.”

“Cain stopped.” Castiel looks up at King of Hell. “He stopped for years-decades. Everyone thought him dead. Whatever Cain did to stop Dean is more than capable of doing as well. He doesn’t have to die. He only needs to be saved.”

“Cain had a reason to stop. He had a _want_ to stop.” Crowley shrugs and looks away. “Dean has no want to stop. He enjoys himself.”

“I did not-“

“I don’t bloody care what you want! The Dean you know is gone, Castiel! He-“

Castiel slams his fist down on the counter, and pushes himself up to face Crowley. “I did not save him from Hell for Dean to turn into a demon!” He grabs Crowley by his jacket, and pulls him closer. “My purpose on this miserable planet from the moment I rebuilt his body has been-and will always be- to protect and keep him harm. I failed him once, but who was truly to blame for that? I will not kill Dean Winchester, but I will save him.”

“And what if this guy just doesn’t want to be saved?” A familiar deep voice asks behind him.

He would know that voice anywhere. He’s dreamt about that voice for months. The person who belongs to that voice is all he’s been begging, praying, and screaming for, for months. Castiel lets go of Crowley, turning around so quickly he has to blink furiously to make his vision stop spinning. There, standing a few feet in front of him is Dean.

Dean looks as he always has. He has on jeans with black t-shirt under a deep red unbuttoned long sleeve shirt. His short light brown hair is mused as if he’s just gotten done sleeping, or maybe running his hands through it too much. But most importantly, the man he has been mourning and dreaming about for months is alive. He stands in front of him free of blood, unmarked from anything that has happened in the past.

“Dean…” Castiel breathes.

His feet have begun to move forward on their own accord, taking him slowly towards the man who wears an amused smirk.

“Castiel.” Crowley whispers loudly behind him. “You need to leave. Go. Get out of here.”

He pauses and stares at Dean in front of him. The reason he left his family, and rebelled against everything he has ever known since existence. Crowley may only know the darkness of Dean’s soul, but he knows it how truly bright, beautiful, and full of love it really is. Above all, he knows that Dean will never hurt him. Castiel grits his teeth together in determination, and ignores Crowley’s words moving forwards again. How can he turn away-give up- on the one human who is everything to him? Dean has never given up on him. He owes him that much in return.

“Don’t you think if I wanted to be around some pathetic, helpless, weak humans I’d have stayed?” Dean tips his head back and lets out a full bellied laugh.

Castiel flinches and stumbles to a stop a few feet away from him. “Sam and I, we can help you. We never stopped looking for you. This isn’t you, Dean. You aren’t-“

“Help me?” Dean chuckles. “You think I need to be ‘helped’ because it doesn’t fit your good guy, saving the world bullshit? You gunna save me, Cas?”

“This isn’t you. This is the Mark talking.” Castiel says, straightening up.

“It’s me alright. The real me.” He licks his lips and grins back at Castiel. “Maybe you just don’t want to admit you don’t like who I really am. Not some whiney human you have to constantly watch over anymore. By me embracing who I really am it makes me a stronger person who can think for myself. I don’t have to rely on some obsessed pathetic excuse for an angel anymore to help me out of my own insecurities.” Dean smirks. “Ever think that if I wanted to be cured, I would’ve stayed?”

Castiel waves a hand behind him. “It was Crowley.” He looks behind him to see the demon has vanished. Castiel bites back a growl, and looks back at Dean. “Crowley convinced you to go with him, and-“

“It really wasn’t.” Dean says crossing his arms. “I _chose_ to leave. I _wanted_ to leave.”

“Whatever happened, we can get past it! We can fix this!” Castiel says desperately.

“Mmm…Will you now? Because _you **want**_ to ‘fix’ me, and are unwilling to accept the fact I don’t _need_ to be ‘fixed’. But you think of me like I’m some broken toy?” He cocks his head, looking Castiel up and down. “You should really listen to Crowley’s advice and leave.”

Castiel swallows loudly, keeping his eyes locked with Deans. “I’m not losing you again, Dean.”

“I’m doing everything I can not to come over there and rip your throat out. With my teeth.”

A shiver shakes through Castiel’s body, and he tries to hide it by shifting his weight on his feet. He will not back down. Somewhere deep inside this control of the Mark is Dean. His Dean would never hurt him, and the restraint he admitted to shows he has control over that.

“I’m not leaving without you.” His voice comes out rough, scratching his throat.

“Well, I’m not walking out the door with you.” Dean shrugs. “So, you gunna kill me, Cas?”

“No.” Castiel breaks their stare, looking away from him to the empty bar. He feels his sudden jolt of adrenaline seeping away, and exhaustion steadily sinking in and taking its place. “I wouldn’t kill you.” It comes out in a breath, barely louder than whisper.

“You don’t know what I’ve done. I might have it comin’.” Castiel glances back at Dean. “Probably do by angel standards.” Dean eyes linger over him as slow smile spreads across his lips. “But you’re no more an angel, anymore, than some random Joe is.”

Castiel clears his throat, swallowing dryly as he feels another cough building up. “I don’t care. You are still in my charge. You are my human, and I’m taking you to a house Sam and I have been staying at. I’m going to take you to our home.”

Castiel watches as Dean’s façade momentarily faultiers, and in the same moment he recovers with a sudden loud laugh. “’You’re my human.’” Dean mocks. “’I’m taking you to our home.’” He runs a hand through his hair, laughing and shaking his head. “What is this, a chick flick movie?”

Castiel clenches his jaw in frustration. “You rather live a life being the King of Hell’s pet? Cleaning up his messes, and doing whatever he says?!” He waves his hand at Dean. “That isn’t the Dean Winchester I know. He wouldn’t listen to some demon, let alone take orders.”

Castiel watches at Dean straightens up, jaw twitching. Before he can open his mouth to say anything else, Dean is somehow standing in front of him, face close enough he can feel his warm breath on his face. Castiel stumbles backwards, not taking his eyes off the man in front of him. Dean follows him slowly. Castiel cannot help but feel like some sort of prey being stalked. And Dean is the predator stalking him.

His back hits something solid, stopping his retreating steps. He glances behind him to realize it is the bar counter. Castiel slowly looks back up to Dean standing in front of him, his green eyes looking him up and down.

Dean leans forward, grabbing Castiel’s shirt and pulling him closer. “I don’t take orders from anyone.” He tips his head forward, letting his green eyes lock with his. “I am no one’s pet.”

Castiel searches those green eyes he’s long ago memorized. They are the same endless vibrant bright green with speckles of gold scattered throughout making them almost glow. Only this time, they stare back at him with nothing but emptiness. His beautiful soul gone. The eyes may belong to his human, but beyond that there is nothing.

Castiel lets his hand squeeze into a fist, and pulls it back as far as he can against the bar. His eyes never leave Dean’s as he swings his fist forward, connecting with the side of his face.

The grip on his shirt loosens only slightly, but enough for Castiel to yank himself off to the side falling forward onto a bar stool as he tries to get away. He pushes himself off the ground, tossing the stool blindly behind him, as forces his legs to run towards the door. Castiel barely makes it a few feet before he is shoved face first into the wall.

Castiel tries to push against the wall, trying to turn around, but Dean grabs both his wrists with one hand, and slides his arms up the wall, pushing his own body flush with his. Castiel thrashes his body, trying to break away. A scream builds up in his throat, and he lets it out in frustration. Dean’s whole body shakes against his own as he laughs at his pathetic attempts of escape. He tries one last time to try and push Dean’s body off his, but is only meant with the man grabbing his hair and slamming his head against the wall. He tries to move his arms out of Dean’s grasp, but he only responds by only squeezing Castiel’s wrists tighter, and pushes more of his body weight into him.

Castiel feels a warm trickle of something wet dripping down his face as he strains his eyes to look back at Dean. A man who appears to be his human, smiles wickedly back at him. Castiel watches as his green eyes disappear in a blink, opening back up with nothing back blackness. A mixture between a whimper and a strangled scream leaves his throat as he weakly tries to yank his arms away from Dean’s hold. The demon pulls his hair roughly, making Castiel’s head tip back painfully. Dean leans his face down, lips brushing over his ear.

“Wanna try that again, Angel?” He whispers in a low, husky voice.

Castiel feels Dean teeth graze over his left ear. He tries to turn his head away, but it stays forcefully pinned against the wall. Castiel hisses as feels a sudden sharp pain on his earlobe as Dean sinks his teeth in, tugging at it. He tries to push against the hold on his wrists. Dean responds with a deep chuckle that makes the hair rise over his skin.

_ “Now, you’re going to be a good little angel, and just take it until I’m good, got it?” Deans whispers next to Castiel’s ear, leaning down against his back. _

Castiel blinks furiously trying to push back the memories. That wasn’t _his_ Dean. That was the shifter. Everything in his body is screaming at him to overpower the threat, get away, escape, but his useless human body cannot even manage to move his face being pushed against the cold wooden wall. Castiel squeezes his eyes shut, trying desperately to ignore Dean’s hot breathe wash over his cheek. The helplessness of not having his grace is pushed into the forefront of his mind again. He is aware enough of the situation to realize that Dean is barely even trying to overpower him. He is just that weak and pathetic. Dean is just merely just playing with him, like some sort of feeble toy.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to play with your dinner, mate?” Crowley’s nonchalant voice breaks through Castiel’s thoughts.

Dean sighs in his ear in annoyance. “Thought you ran away to wherever it is you go when things aren’t going your way.”

“Nah. Simply stepped out to clear the mind. Went for a walk. Got a different look on the situation. Phone a friend.” Crowley replies.

“Dean…” Castiel hears Sam’s voice break a little, saying his brother’s name.

Castiel tries to move his head to look over at Sam and Crowley, but Dean refuses to give in even slightly. “Sammy.” Dean’s voice rumbles against his neck. “Been awhile.”

“Let Cas go, Dean.” Sam says his voice more under control.

Castiel feels Dean’s wet tongue lick its way up his neck to the bottom of his jaw. He flinches as Dean nips at it, and lets out another low chuckle.

_ All the while, Dean is grinding into him from behind, fully hard. Castiel tries to push up, tries knocking the fake Dean off him. It is all pointless. He knows it. He is weak, useless. He can’t even save himself. _

The flashback of the memory jolts through his body, and he begins thrashing his body trying to get away. Dean only applies more pressure against his wrists, and Castiel swears he feels something crack. Dean pushes his body even closer into Castiel. The touch and the pressure is sending his body into uncontrollable tremors. He has to swallow down the urge to vomit right as his vision begins to darken and spin.

“Mmmm…I don’t think I’m going to do that, Sammy.” Dean lets go of his hair, and he feels Dean shift slightly behind him, his weight still fully pressed against him.

“Put it down.” Sam says firmly.

Castiel barely has time to gasp for air as Dean’s weight lifts from his body, just enough for him to yank roughly on his wrists. He spins around, stumbling back against Dean’s chest. Dean’s left arm wraps around his chest, holding Castiel tightly against his body. Something sharp is pushed against his neck with enough force he knows before he feels the sting that the weapon has drawn blood. He pushes his body instinctively closer into Dean trying to somehow get away from the weapon digging into his throat. He shuts his eyes for a moment, trying to calm his breathing so the item pushing against his neck won’t slice him by doing the simple human necessary need.

“I don’t think I will.” Dean answers.

Castiel looks at Sam and Crowley standing a few feet away from them. Crowley actually looks somewhat irritated, which unsettles Castiel. If the King of Hell is showing any emotion other than his usual smug attitude, thing are defiantly bad. Sam’s gaze is steady and alert, but his body language screams nervous and angry.

“You don’t need to do this.” Sam raises his hands slowly and takes a step closer.

Castiel bites his tongue trying to keep his body as still as possible as something slices across the side of his neck towards his Adams apple. “Take another step and I don’t think the angel is gunna enjoy what happens next.”

“Alright. Okay.” Sam freezes, and moves his hands in a motion to show he’s listening. “Just let Cas go, Dean.”

“Mmm, I don’t think that’s gunna happen.” Dean chuckles. “Why don’t you just have Crowley here zap you back to wherever you came from, and let me go.”

“Not going to happen.” Sam lowers his arms, and glances back at Crowley.

Everything happens too quickly for Castiel to process.

All at once Crowley is gone, and Dean’s grip on him falls free. Before Castiel can even process his fall, Sam is grabbing his arm and half dragging him towards the door. His feet finally catch up with the action, and begin sprinting with Sam in order to keep up. Behind him he hears a heavy crash, and the sound of Crowley grunting with pain. Sam pushes through the screen door into the blinding sunlight. Castiel points to his “borrowed car”, while pushing his legs harder.

Castiel swings his driver’s side door open, practically diving inside, and slamming it closed behind him. He turns the key, bringing the car to life, and throws it in reverse just as Sam throws himself in the passenger seat. Castiel slams his foot on the gas, tires throwing gravel everywhere until they hit the black top. He brings it back to drive, and slams on the gas again, the car jerking at the change before jolting forward.

He doesn’t look back to the bar. He doesn’t look at Sam panting in the seat beside him. He doesn’t wipe the wetness beginning to itch on his throat away. He doesn’t move his foot from the gas pedal. He doesn’t focus on the tingle on the back of his head. He doesn't acknowledge his heart clenching painfully in his chest. He doesn’t look away from the highway in front of him.

Castiel knows if he did any of these things, any and all control he has on keeping it together would collapse.

What he does do, is drive. He drives away from the bar. He drives away the town. Castiel drives away from the demon who wears the face of his Righteous Man. He drives away from last possible ounce of hope he has from saving Dean. From saving the man he loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos give me a high! You guys keep me going. <3


	10. Carry Me Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Carry Me Home, by The Sweeplings_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Firstly, (before I get into the heavy stuff) I would like to remind everyone that my chapter titles are song titles. I would encourage you to find the song and listen to it while you read. It truly makes all the difference (in my opinion). 
> 
> Secondly, I am a terrible garbage person. I am perfectly aware I left this out there, without informing you beautiful humans about what was going on. Though any reason I give is a terrible excuse for months of silence, I still feel like I need to apologize.  
> My friend, my other half, my soulmate died (and when I say soulmate, I go off the same belief of With Understanding. You can have two. One that is love, true love, and another that is simply someone you connect with so deeply you can't imagine life without them..Everything is just..empty.). She left this world suddenly, with no explanation that any doctor could give. Now, this beautiful woman was not a shipper. She didn't even watch the show (though she might as well have, I could never shut up about it). But she is-was-one of the few people who encouraged me writing. She would tell me she didn't understand it, but if it made me happy and let me write, then she was totally on board. She even went as far as to help edit some chapters (oh man, she was a fricken grammar Nazi, let me tell you what. It was INSANE!). 
> 
> This story was a reminder of her, which is why it was put on hold for so long. With her leaving, my words left with her. Many times I sat in front of my computer for HOURS, just trying to will something worthy to write..Nothing came.. 
> 
> But, loves, I am sorry. I, again, am not abandoning this story. It was just hard there for awhile. Three deaths in an eigth month span, and I was just...numb. I 
> 
> Thirdly! Things are changing. I am working the "Cass's" to "Cas". Apparently it bothers people *shrugs*. I really don't give a damn, but some of my humans from our facebook group have let me know their concerns. 
> 
> And lastly, I love you all. You all are amazing humans. Someone out there wakes up every day just hoping to catch a glimpse of your smile, and hear the happiness in your laughter. Don't you ever forget how precious you truly are. If you ever doubt, come find me. I'll remind you.

    Castiel hasn’t bothered to learn the name of the motel. He hasn’t even paid enough attention to the name of the town. All he knows is that he’s tired. He’s beyond tired. Exhaustion doesn’t have a name for what he is feeling. It is something deeper than the need for rest. Castiel feels it in his muscles as his fingers twitch on their own accord. He feels it seeping out of his bones as he adjusts his position in this God awful chair. The heaviness of what he is feeling weighs him down so deeply, it prevents his eyelids from closing to give him rest.

  Sam’s leg is bouncing underneath the table, creating ripples to dance in his cup of untouched water in front of him. Castiel watches the little ripples blur and come back into focus below him as he tries to block out the younger Winchesters mumbling. He tries to clear his mind again, concentrating on the clear plastic cup of water in front of him. The water becomes unfocused again, colors taking the place of solid objects around him.

  “Cas.”  Sam’s voice seems distant, miles away.

  “Cas.” His voice is louder, like it’s trying to break through some sort of invisible fog floating around in his head.

  “Castiel.” Castiel blinks, letting the colors take proper form again.

  His forehead creases as he stares at the cup of water in front of him. The liquid is still, no vibrations causing movement. Castiel slowly raises his head and looks up across the table to the long haired man in front of him. Sam looks back at him with a mixture of disappointment, anger, and pity. The younger brother runs a hand through his tangled hair, shaking his head. Castiel begins to lower his head again.

  “What the hell happened?” Sam asks bringing his hands down heavily on the table, making some of the water spill out.

  “Dean is a demon.” He hears himself whisper, unsure of how his lips are functioning. The water that has escaped collects, and pools together in an awkward circle beside his cup.

  “Yeah, I mean yes.” Sam sighs in frustration. “We knew that Dean was-is-a demon going into this. What I want to know is what happened from the time Crowley left to get me, to when we got there.”

  Another trickle of water that has been steadily working its way down the side of the cup finally reaches the bottom, and bleeds into the pool. The union causes the small pool to move forward, heading on a slow journey to the edge of the table.

  “You with me?” Sam’s voice is starting to fade away into background noise, again. The steadily slither of the water reaches the edge of the table, and slowly falls off in one simple drip.

  “Cas, man, talk to me.” A hand touches his shoulder, and Castiel jerks back rising to his feet, tipping his chair over.

  Castiel doesn’t realize he is moving, until his knees hit the stand where the bulky TV sits. He glances from Sam to the motel door, his vision fading in and out. The young Winchester is now standing, hands raised in front of him. His eyes wander to the now empty cup that is rolling back and forth on its side, water spilling off the table in a stream.

  “Hey, look at me.” The voice fades in and out, barely audible.  Castiel looks back at the man. “You’ve been through a lot. I get it. But it’s going to be alright, okay?” He squints as Sam blurs into a mixture of colors, lights and darks. “You just gotta talk to me, okay?” The flesh toned colors move closer towards him. Castiel tries to back away from the colorful blur approaching, but his back only hits the wall. “Cas, it’s just me. Let me help you.”

  The colors stop in front of him and Castiel shakes his head trying to make his eyes function solid forms again. A chill shivers up his spine, and then spreads throughout his chest. Icicles suddenly stab into his lungs, and he gasps at the fresh pain, arching his back. Castiel collapses onto his knees, slumping forward. His hands grip the orange shag carpet underneath him as he tries to take in oxygen through painful gasps. The coldness is spreading higher, like a fingers crawling their way up his throat, gripping it tightly.

  His vision suddenly goes clear. Painfully clear.

  For a moment, he sees everything as he had before, back when he had his grace. He sees every fiber that creates the monstrosity of the carpet. He sees dust particles explode into bright starbursts dancing, spinning, and twirling past his vision. He watches as the free-floating dead skin cells fall onto the fibers of the carpet, colliding together almost like an explosion.

  Two strong hands grip it his face, yanking it upwards. The swift movement makes his stomach clench. The white-hot cold, clutching at his insides smashes back into his body. He squeezes his eyes shut trying to shut everything out.

  The hands jerk away from his face. “Shit! Fuck! You’re on fire!”

  Castiel tries to open his eyes again. He tries with every ounce of strength he has to open his eyes one last time, just so he can see-remember- the world as he always had. He yearns for that clarity, the pureness, that his grace had always given his sight.

  “Castiel! Stay with me, damnit! Fuck!” The voice is miles and miles away, fading farther and farther into silence.

  A little part of him wants to give into the blackness. The empty void in front of him seems rather peaceful. There is a nagging feeling he should go back. There is something important he has to do. Without putting too much thought into either one, the burning cold engulfs him. He hears someone screaming far, far away. Even with the distance, the agony in the voice reaches him. The rawness of the emotion explodes before him in a bright supernova of blue light, consuming him in a white hot fire of pain.

 

~                                                                                              ~                                                                                              ~

 

  Everything is colorless; A bright, brilliant white. Castiel is floating in a vast openness of nothingness. He is nothing and everything all at once. His entire being is connected to everything around him. The whole emptiness is full of a calm energy. It is…peaceful, here. He can rest. The feeling itself is almost as if he has his wings again. He pushes the thought away quickly as the unseen light begins to dim. He lets it go, allowing the beautiful unending forever; his world brightens again.

  The brightness begins to dim, again, as his ears beginning to ring. Is that voices? Castiel tries to push the noise away, focusing on the emptiness around him. He wants to be left alone. He wants to rest. He doesn’t care what the voices are saying. He is finally at peace here. Nothing can touch him here. Nothing matters here.

  “Do you have it?”

  An uncomfortable coldness begins to spread throughout his chest. Castiel tries to lift his hand to touch his chest, but his limbs won’t move. Nothing is made to move here. The realization is terrifying, but yet, he understands it nonetheless.  The brightness begins to fade into shadows as burning chilled fingers crawl up his throat, gripping it tightly. Castiel blinks desperately trying to focus on the nothingness around him.

  “Of course I bloody have it, you moron.”

  The world around him flickers into blackness as he tries to gasp for air. Castiel tries to lift his arm to feel in front of him, but his limbs still refuse to work. It was if something heavy is pressing on him, squeezing every last bit of life he had left. Panic floods him as he begins falling in the darkness. The last bit of air from his burning lungs rushes out, and he stares wide-eyed into the black nothingness unable to gasp in anything more. He yearns to scream for the comfort of the blissful, blinding white emptiness again. Everything in him is screaming at him to breathe, but nothing seems to be responding.

  “Fucking fix him! He’s dying, Crowley!”

  Warmth suddenly begins flooding down his throat. Castiel manages to takes a shaky breath in, swallowing down the somehow familiar heat. He feels the cold claws melt away from the inside of his throat as the heat searches out to fill every space. He swallows more down, feeling the warmth searching out and seep into his bloodstream. Castiel lets out a shaky sigh as the warmth intensifies in heat, speeding through his veins. He feels it as it fills every possible gap inside his human vessel, replacing all the pain within him with a gentle hum of the comforting heat. He feels the fierce cold that had latched onto his chest completely dissipate as the warmth nears it, and swallowing up the spaces the cold had touched.

  As the last trickle of heat drips down his throat as a certain clarity fills his mind. Castiel’s eyes shoot open just as his body is enveloped in a blindly blue light.

  His grace.

  Castiel pushes himself up, slowly standing from the ground. A comforting weight he has been missing so terribly it brought him physical pain rests on his back again. He rolls his shoulders, listening to the sound of feathers only he can hear rustling behind him. A slow smile spreads across his lips as he tips his head backwards. Castiel spreads his wings out behind him, rememorizing every twitch of his muscles, every sound of feathers brushing against one another, and appreciating the way his body feels more balanced-complete- with the rest of him.

  The light from his grace begins to dim as it bleeds back into his body as he folds back up his wings. He settles them behind him, letting them fade from human eyes . All his senses hum with energy, life, power. All of it swirls within him, filling him with everything he was, is, and always will be. He feels it all, dancing under the human flesh. The fog that has been gathering inside Castiel’s mind over the past months begins to lift. The millennia of knowledge that he has always had pieces itself together with perfect clarity.

  “Lovely. Looks like Humpty Dumpty can be put back together again.” A gruff voice huffs in front of him.

  Castiel lowers his head to see Crowley standing in front of him, looking rather bored. Anger, hatred, rage- everything that he had kept inside him for months- boils to the surface, causing his grace to ignite. This time, he can do something about all his emotions.

  “You!” Castiel steps towards the demon, watching Crowley’s gruesome true face flicker through his human vessel. “You did this!”

  “Samantha, calm your attack dog.” Crowley says reaching into his jacket and pulling out an angel blade. “Castiel, remember our little chat?”

  Castiel grabs the King of Hell by the collar, lifting him up in the air ignoring the angel blade pressing into his chest. He strides forward, slamming the demon into the wall listening to the blade clatter to the floor. He raises his hand presses it against the top of the demons head. His melting flesh makes an unpleasant sound beneath his fingers. Crowley’s glowing red eyes stares back at him almost skeptical. The King of Hell’s black tongue clicks inside his mouth, as some sort of thick dark liquid trickles out. Castiel presses his palm harder on the demons skull, watching as a strip of decaying flesh fall away.

  “My grace is returned. I owe you nothing.” Castiel hisses, feeling his grace tingling at the tips of his fingers.

  “In order to save Dean, you will need me.” The demon replies calmly back, glaring up at him. “Even with your angel juice back.”

  “Cas, just listen to him.” Sam rests a hand on his shoulder.

  Castiel glares down into the demons red eyes, his grace buzzing against his damned human flesh, begging to release. It pleads with him to smite the reason he and his grace were stripped from one another.

  “The Dean you know is gone.” Castiel glances behind him to Sam.

  “We can get Dean back.” Sam replies, nodding towards Crowley. “But we are going to need his help.”

  Castiel’s turns back to Crowley, narrowing his eyes. “There is always a catch.”

  “Not this time, Feathers.” Crowley’s demonic face twists into something that might resemble a smirk. “He is causing more harm than good, and losing Hell souls. I can train hellhounds easier than I can that man.” He raises a hand that seems to glow and flicker with an unending burn of hellfire embers. Crowley taps Castiels hand still gripped around his collar. “Let’s talk about this like civilized adults, shall we?”

  Castiel grits his teeth hard, tightening his grip on Crowley’s collar. The demons face never falters from his annoyingly twisted smug look. Perhaps they might need the King of Hell, but nothing is always free. There is going to come a time in all this, where Crowley let’s his motive known, and then there will be no stopping him. Castiel shakes his head, watching Crowley’s face flicker back into his human vessels form. He pulls his hand away from Crowley’s forehead, gripping it into a tight fist. He slowly uncurls his fingers from the King of Hells collar, dropping the man back to his feet.

  Castiel turns to look at Sam, narrowing his eyes at the tall man. “You think your brother can be saved.”

  “You don’t?” Sam raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Seriously?”

  He clenches his jaw, looking away from the younger brother. Everything he had ever learned about the Mark and the First Blade was vague. Facts about what had happened, of course, there was no denying the actual events that happened. But then there were rumors about Cain he tried to dismiss. It was all purely speculation, stories, and guessing games. Anything deeper than actual body counts from Cain and his Knights was simply something Castiel avoided. Cain had stopped though. Why had Cain stopped? If The Father of Murder could disappear and ignore the urge for killing, surly Dean could as well?

  “Dean has a taste for blood, and will not stop killing.” Crowley states beside him.

  Castiel raises an eyebrow, glancing over to the demon. “But you said we could get Dean back.”

  The King of Hell hums beside him, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “That I did.”

  “What Crowley isn’t elaborating on is _how_ we get Dean back.” Sam says throwing Crowley an annoyed look. “Crowley and I think we can go about it a few different ways. Getting you your grace back was the most important thing, obviously.”

  “We’re going to kidnap your boyfriend, lock him up in your flea infested place you call a home, and attempt to beat the demon out of him.” Crowley rolls his eyes dramatically at Sam. “I simplified it for Castiel here.”

  “You have no real plan.” Castiel states flatly.

  “We have the chain that Abaddon used on Crowley in the warehouse. It made him unable to use any of his power, and if it works on the King of Hell, then-“

  “Then you _assume_ it will work on a Knight of Hell.” Castiel shakes his head, trying not to let his anger rise.

  “Holy water hurt Abaddon.” Sam continues, walking over to the table where his phone rests beside the tipped over plastic cup. “We can use that to weaken, or at least distract Dean to get the chain around him. After we have him confined, we are going to take him to the house and put him in a devils trap. We are going to try exorcism. I have some books I am still going through, but-“

  “The Mark is branded onto his skin, and you think exorcism will cure that?” Castiel snaps. “In all the years of Cain’s bloodshed and murder, you never thought that someone thought to try exorcism?”

  “Then what do you want to fucking do, Castiel?!” Sam yells, slamming his fist onto the table. “Give up on him? That’s not the fucking angel I know. Our Castiel would fight to save him.”

  “He doesn’t even hold any emotion towards you or I!” Castiel points at Sam. “You weren’t there, Sam. You have no idea the amount of power he has! If he hadn’t wanted to toy with me first, I would be dead and there wouldn’t be anything anyone could have done about it. No one in that room was stronger than him.” He looks away from Sam, feeling something tight building inside his chest. “That is how far gone he truly is.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I am not giving up on saving Dean. But I will not go about it with some half assed idea that is going to get you hurt, or more than likely, killed. No matter how badly you want your brother back, you have to go about this logically.”

  Sam glares at him, face set in some emotion Castiel has no real care to figure out. “You couldn’t care if we get Dean back. You started hating his very existence the moment you let some shifter lookalike rape you.”

  As the last of the words fall out of Sam’s mouth, Castiel is in front of him, shoving Sam against the wall. Sam glares down at him with so much hatred Castiel can almost taste it.

   “I would watch your words more carefully, boy.” Castiel whispers in a low, calm voice. He pushes his arm harder into the younger brother’s chest, preventing him moving. “Dean Winchester’s soul is bonded with me in a way your simple mind could never grasp. He has been, and will continue being my number one reason for staying on this miserable planet my Father created. Humanity, in all its evil, wicked ways, has not ruined me, Samuel. It has only deepened my assimilation in that your brother is everything good. Pure. Righteous.  I will never stop fighting for a way to save him.”

  “No one was stronger than Dean in that room, correct?” Crowley interrupts.

  Castiel drops his arm from pinning Sam against the wall and turns back to glare at the demon. “Obviously.”

  Crowley clicks his tongue, tilting his head. “Two humans and The King of Hell were unable to fight off a Knight of Hell…” His sentence trails off.

  Castiel sighs. “This has been well established, get to the point.”

  Crowley rolls his eyes dramatically. “You were human. Of course you wouldn’t be stronger, you moron.”

  Castiel blinks at Crowley, mouth opening and then closing again. Oh… _oh._

  “Now we play the angel verse demon game. Which one would be stronger now?” Crowley smirks.

  “An angel will always hold more power over any demon.” Castiel whispers, letting everything rest inside his mind.

  “Mmm, maybe in strength, yes. Dean never had much for brains, that one.” Crowley shrugs. “Regardless, overpowering should be simple enough. This is where you’ll need Moose and I.”

  “I am not killing him.” Castiel tightens his hand into a fist as his grace tingles over his skin in response to his sudden anger. “Neither are any of you!”

  “No one is killing Dean, Cas.” Sam says somewhere behind him. “We just need to restrain him and get the chain around him. Once he’s unable to do anything, we can get him to where we need him, and figure out how to cure him.”

  “Through exorcism.” He scoffs. “He isn’t possessed.”

  “Correct. I watched our dear Dean wake up on his own, black eyes greeting the world for the first time.” Crowley shrugs. “Possession, no. The Mark brought him back.”

  “So we need to get rid of the Mark.” Sam walks over to the bed where his duffle bag sits, and he digs through it a moment before taking out his laptop.

  “We could always just cut it off.” Crowley chuckles.

  Castiel hears a growl leave his lips before he can stop it. The King of Hell raises an eyebrow skeptically at him. “As if it hasn’t crossed your mind.”

  “No, it hasn’t crossed my mind. We are not cutting any part of his body.” Castiel glares at the group of them.

  “What, pray tell, would be your little answer to this situation?” Crowley raises an eyebrow to him. “Ask dear old Daddy to cure your Prince of Darkness two point oh?”

  Castiel runs his hand through his hair. “Angels tried for centuries to stop Cain and no one ever succeeded. _If_ there was a way, we would have found it and used it.”

  “But Cain isn’t Dean.” Crowley smirks, leaning back against the wall.

  “Spit it out. I have no patience for you. You’re lucky I don’t come over there and rip your-“

  “Sticks and stones, love. You need me.” Crowley waves his hand, rolling his eyes. “You and Dean have a bond, ay? Now that you got your feathers back, I wonder if you would still be able to feel him…” He taps his chin with his finger. “Just a thought.”

  Castiel opens and closes his mouth wordlessly, blinking at the smug demon. He hasn’t tried to search out Dean. It has only been a few moments sense his grace has been returned. He isn’t even sure he’d be able to locate Dean with the Mark’s full power running through Dean. Maybe the demon has a point, and he should at least try. Cain was never bonded with an angel before. Maybe there was hope.

  Deep inside Castiel, he wants to believe some part of the Dean he knows is still in there, screaming to be set free. But the logical part of him knows this isn’t likely. Dean had been moments away from killing him, and would have done it without a second thought. He carries no remorse. The Blade is driving his lust for blood.

  Castiel shakes his head trying to gather his thoughts. Cain had gone against the Mark and the Blade’s calling. He had given up killing and bloodshed. Yet, even with all this, Cain had still carried the Mark. The desire-hunger- had still been there. He wants to go and ask the man why? How? Was there something stronger than the yearning for murder? Could Dean do this? And if he did, would he forever be in pain?

  Decision made, Castiel lets his eyes fall closed, focusing on his grace humming inside him. He pushes himself deeper inside it, rememorizing the way it sustains him-creates him. His grace swirls around his consciousness, caressing him with warmth. He has forgotten how complete he had been.

  He reluctantly pulls himself away from the warmth of his grace, expanding his consciousness outside himself. Castiel feels his way through air, towns, and humans. He skips past all of them, none of it calling to him, or having any importance. He focuses harder, moving faster past everything, letting all color blur into nothing but gray and white flashes. Castiel lets go of himself completely, letting himself shift throughout space and time without restraint of conscious thought. His entire essence is searching for that part of himself entwined with Dean’s soul.

  It could be minutes or hours, maybe days. The gray and white flashes are steadily slowing and gathering shape and proper color, once again. Castiel feels a subtle pull through his grace, nudging him forward, though to where he isn’t certain. It appears to be a rundown bar of some sort, though he doesn’t recognize the building as any he’s ever seen before. People are moving around inside, voices muted and unimportant.

  He watches as Dean steps into the room, and everything snaps into vivid clarity. He watches as Dean sits down in a corner booth towards the back of the bar. His grace pulses loudly, as if calling to the other half woven intricately inside his Righteous Man’s soul. He watches as Dean tilts his head to the side, as if he’s trying to decide something. A slow smile spreads over his lips as he slowly looks up. Castiel knows Dean can’t see him since he isn’t in any real sustainable form, but something after a few seconds tick by with Dean still staring right at him. He begins doubting his own knowledge.

  Dean blinks slowly, and when they open all Castiel sees is black staring back at him. Seeing his green eyes disappear reminds Castiel to his purpose, and he focuses on his grace inside the man sitting in front of him. He barely feels a faint flicker, almost like a dying heartbeat about ready to give out. He watches Dean lick his lips, chuckling to himself. He mouths something Castiel is unable to catch, and rises from the table in one smooth motion, quickly heading for Castiel.

  Castiel pulls back, yanking himself away from Dean quickly. Colors and shapes fly back him far too quickly and he slams back into his own human body. He gasps on oxygen he doesn’t need to breathe, and blinks frantically trying to make everything stop spinning.

  “Cas!” Sam yells beside him. “What the hell was that?”

  Castiel looks over at Sam, and shakes his head. Crowley stares at him from behind Sam with an amused expression.

  “You were just standing there like a fricken statue. Seriously, what the hell happened?” Sam asks again.

  Castiel clears his throat, looking back and forth between them. “I found Dean.” Crowley raises an eyebrow, while Sam gives him a confused look.

  “You found…You haven’t even left this room.” Sam looks over at the door, then back at Castiel.

  “I…It’s complicated.” Castiel runs a hand through his hair, fingers getting caught on length. He tugs on the back of it slightly, realizing it is far too long for his liking. His vessel had always had shorter hair, not anywhere near this length. It feels wrong. As if he is defiling his memory.

  “Explain to me how you found Dean without leaving this room. Then explain to me where Dean is.” Sam crosses his arms, giving him one of his many “bitchface” expressions, Dean would call it.

  “I…focused on my grace, and…” Castiel tilts his head trying to figure out some way to explain himself.

  “What our simple minded angel is trying to say is he astral projected himself. A little more to it than that, I’m sure. With you feather heads it always is, but that’s the gist.” Crowley wanders over to a chair and sits down, propping his elbow up on the arm, and rests his head on his fist looking bored.

  Castiel shrugs. “More or less, yes.”

  “And you know where Dean is?” Sam asks, leaning forward.

  “I do, but…” He thinks back how Dean seemed to have seen him-no, not seen. That is impossible. Felt him? “I doubt he is there anymore.”

  “But you can find him again?” Sam asks.

  “I can.” Castiel nods his head, grimacing as his greasy hair flops against his face.

  “This is great!” Sam exclaims, slapping Castiel’s shoulder. “When we get things all set up, finding Dean won’t be an issue.” He turns, walking over to Crowley, starting to go over ideas.

   Castiel suddenly feels too confined. The room feels even smaller than what it actually is. He has spent months grounded, unable to do or go as he wished; confined to his human vessel, only being able to be used for information. Lying in a bedroom day after day, haunted by reminders-nightmares- of every reason he is a pathetic excuse for an angel, let alone human. He has had to relive his failures every time his eyes closed, exhaustion casting him into sleep. He has let himself give up hope, and sat there wallowing in his own self shame and pity, slowly dying and doing nothing to try and stop it.

  Trying to locate his grace he had branded into Dean’s soul was like a breath of fresh air. He yearns to stretch his wings and just leave. He wants to _breathe_.

 He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing again at the feeling and length. His clothes suddenly felt too tight-too wrong. They aren’t the loose, usual comfort clothes of the man’s vessel he was so comfortable in. These are old, torn, dirty, and just simply too…wrong. They rub against his skin in a way that he feels an odd urge to itch his arms. They are a memory of who he let himself become; a weak, damaged, pathetic human. He wants to rip them from his body and burn them, and any memories they carry of who he had been. Castiel suddenly feels like he is suffocating, which he knows isn’t possible with his grace back.

  “Where are my clothes?” Castiel asked, interrupting Sam speaking to Crowley.

  “Uh, you’re wearing your clothes, Cas.” Sam said, raising an eyebrow at him.

  “My vessels clothes. Where are those clothes?” Castiel begins to slip off his flannel over shirt, leaving him in a black t-shirt.

  “Dude, what are you doing?” Sam jumps up towards him. “Your clothes are back in Lawrence. You can’t just-“

  Castiel feels the air around him shift as he flexes his wings. He blinks staring at the old bedroom he had resigned himself to for months. It looks…different than what he remembers. The bed is unmade, blankets thrown around like he was thrashing in his sleep. He probably was. There is a stale odor of sweat and sickness that makes him wrinkle his nose. The holey closed curtains are covered in dust, and he tilts his head at them wondering if Sam had ever bothered to touch them in their stay. He doesn’t remember the window ever being opened.

  He looks around the bedroom wondering where Sam might have put the clothes. All the times he used the wobbly dresser in the corner, he had never seen his vessels clothes. Castiel’s eyes rest on the closet he’s never bothered to open. He walks towards it, pulling it open with an ear splitting screech. At first glance it appears empty. Dust dances around, caught on the first current of air flow in who knows how long. Castiel is about to close the door, when he sees something in the back corner of the top shelf. He reaches up, grabbing at the lump of clothing and pulling it down.

  Castiel rubs the fabric of the tan trench coat with thumbs, staring down at it resting heavily in his hands. A weight he had no idea he’s been carrying, falls off his chest as he lets out a shaky breath. He takes long breath in, trying to collect himself. It’s almost as if he’s seeing an old friend again. The white of his dress shirt peaks out from under the coat, and his lips twitch.

  He throws the clothing onto the bed and begins stripping out of his dirty clothing quickly. Castiel debates on actually taking a shower. He had almost grown to enjoy the feel of water washing away his filth. As he was growing steadily more and more sick, the heat from the shower seemed to almost pause the inevitable. He had always tried to convince himself that if the water was hot enough it was able to wash away his sins-his shame.

  _No._ Showers were a human necessity that he has no need for anymore, or ever again. He spreads his arms wide, and flexes his wings out behind him. Castiel pulls on his grace to cleanse him, smiling as it hums and tingles over his skin. He rolls his head back, enjoying the feeling of the familiar warmth caressing his body. After a moment, Castiel lowers his head as he feels his grace fading back under his skin, again. He feels refreshed, more alert, more himself. His long hair flops in front of his eyes, and huffs at the annoyance. He supposes he could will himself shorter hair, but it would seem more satisfying cutting it himself.

  Castiel walks into the dirty bathroom, flipping on the light above the mirror. The light buzzes loudly, flickering for a moment unsure if it wants to obey the command and only purpose in existence. Castiel pushes on the mirror and he clicks open revealing a tube of toothpaste half gone, a toothbrush, and a stick of deodorant. Of course there would be no scissors. He should have known better than to even look. Sam would find it a personal offense if such a thing existed in the bathroom, threatening the safety of his own hair.

  With barely a thought, he focuses on the memory of how Jimmy had looked all those years ago, and closes the mirror as his head begins to tingle all over. The vibration of the cabinet closing jostles the light enough to stop flickering and illuminates the room brightly.

  Two bright blue eyes stare back at him, no long circled with black bags. A healthy looking face moves along with his as he shifts his face to the side. He watches himself in the mirror as his fingers touch his cheeks, trying to find his sunken in cheeks that he had only hours before. Castiel runs his fingertips over the start of his five o’clock shadow loving the tickling feeling he gives him. He marvels, for a moment, at the healthy glow his grace has given him. He had almost forgotten what it was like to feel “well”. Castiel blinks at the stranger, trying to rememorize himself again.

  A ghost of tingling itches his head, and he runs his fingertips through the, now, shorter, clean hair. His image mimics him, and he smirks at his reflection. _Almost there. Almost back to normal._

  Castiel wanders back into the bedroom, and approaches the bed where his clothes lay. He unfolds the trench coat, watching the clothes fall out back onto the bed. He slowly reaches for the old clothes, dressing himself carefully, almost as if it’s some religious practice he has to do just right. Finally, he shrugs on the trench coat, sighing at the wholeness he feels.

  The pile of his old clothes lies on the floor, taunting him with unkind reminders of the last few months. Castiel walks into the kitchen, and heads straight over to the stove where the long kitchen lighter still sits, waiting to be used. He grabs the lighter, heading back into the bedroom. Castiel bends down; scooping up the clothes in his arms, and feels the air shift around him again.

  Outside of the house, he walks to the middle of the backyard, dropping his clothes on the ground. He walks over to the side of the house grabbing the old gas can Sam had sitting, next to the lawnmower. Castiel walks over to his clothes, and pours the whole can over them. He tosses the can aside, and lights the lighter. Barely touching the clothes with the flame, it catches and ignites the pile. Castiel watches the flames slowly licking their way through the fabric.

  The smoke drifts away from him on a steady breeze he can hardly feel this close to the heat. He tries not to let his mind wander, but let himself enjoy this moment of cleansing. Dean, the Mark, and everything with that will need to be handled, when he returns. Questions will need to addressed and answered, but in this moment, he is gathering himself and finding a gentle peace he hasn’t had in such a long time.

  The flames flicker and dance among themselves, growing more dim and smaller. As the last flame flares, settling itself into glowing embers, Castiel lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Something wet drops onto his fist that is still grasping the lighter. He blinks down at his hand, now conscious to the feeling of something wet and hot running down his face. He drops the lighter beside him, raising his shaky hand to his face. Castiel tentatively touches his cheek, feeling the trail of wetness his tears have left. He squeezes his eyes closed, this time he feels the hot tears escape, and let’s out a choked sob. Castiel’s body buckles underneath, somehow feeling too heavy. He lets his body fall to the damp earth, as another sob escapes through his lips.

  His tears spill out from his eyes as he gasps for air. Castiel’s chest aches, but he doesn’t want to focus on what could be the reason. Somewhere inside his mind, a small voice is telling him this is how his grace is cleansing him. Ridding him of everything that he endured while being human-making him worthy of being an angel again. Clean. Pure. Castiel grasps his sides, hugging himself tightly, trying to push the feeling away, as the ache flares inside him. It burns at his insides, reaching every possible part that makes up his vessel. Castiels vision whites out from the pain for a moment, and his ears begin to ring.

  When everything slowly begins to come back into focus, he is laying on his side staring at fading, glowing embers. His ears are still ringing, but underneath the ring he can make out muffled voices. Voices he hasn’t heard in so long, he had almost forgotten they existed. He lays there on the damp ground, tears still trickling out without permission, but he is too numb to care. Castiel stares at the fading orange embers slowly dying out, leaving only ash behind. He has no idea how much time has passed, only that his arms are growing stiff from clutching himself tightly.

  Over the ringing in his ears, he hears a voice whisper, “Welcome back, Castiel.” Castiel can only blink slowly in reply, feeling another tear trickle down his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos give me a high. Let me know your thoughts, feelings, and concerns. ^_^
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	11. The Noose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The Noose by A Perfect Circle_
> 
> Hello loves. 
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> Thank you for sticking with me, you truly don't know how much it means to me that you are still here I promise this work is not abandoned, and never will be. I just need a little bit more time with it than the rest..I'd love to know what you're thinking! Hit me up with some love, you guys.

 Castiel let the Sam and Crowley’s voices fade into background noise as he reads through Sam’s notes on various ways to try and rid Dean of the Mark. Suffice to say, he hasn’t come up with anything other than trapping him and using regular ways that would vanquish a demon.

 “As long as we have him, we have time to figure out a plan.” Sam says. “We can start out with the regular ways. I have Bobby’s old books in storage. I can go through those and see if there’s something about the Mark in there.”

 “Wouldn’t it be wise to go into this with an actual course of action?” Castiel asks, looking up from the notes.

 “Please enlighten us to something we might be missing.” Sam retorts, sitting heavily on the bed.

 Castiel pushes away the thought of Dean carrying the Mark. He thinks about the Mark init of itself, and the history of Cain carrying it. His mind goes through different stories and rumors he heard told throughout the centuries. He recalls their encounter with Abaddon, and the knowledge from that. Everything has him coming up just as clueless as they’ve been. The only person who might have answers would be Cain himself.

 “Cain.” Castiel says. “We need to find Cain and ask him for help.”

 “Has your grace returning made you bloody insane?” Crowley spits, glaring at him. “Ask the Father of Murder for advice on how to cure the Knight of Hell he deemed worthy to wear the Mark?”

 Sam’s eyes narrow at Castiel. “How would we even find him?”

  “I assume a location spell is out of the question?” He asks looking over at Crowley.

  “The spell I used before was for the Blade, which led us to Cain.” Crowley shrugs. “With the power he still holds being a Knight the chances would be up in the air.”

  “So, a waste then.” Sam snaps.

  Crowley shrugs and pushes himself up off the old chair. The movement has Castiel’s hand twitching slightly to slide out his angel blade from his sleeve.  Almost as if sensing the slight movement, the demon cocks his head to him, lips spreading slowly into a smug smirk.

  “A tad jumpy, aren’t we? Old habits a little hard to flush out?” Crowley taunts.

  Castiel glares back at him, fighting his fingers into a fist. “Only a complete fool would trust you.”

  “Castiel, Castiel.” He tisks. “How many more times am I going to have to remind you we want the same thing?” Crowley sticks his hands in his jacket pockets, tipping his head to the other side as if thinking. “Though, how we get there is still, well, debatable.”

  He flicks his wrist and feels the smooth glide of his angel blade fall into his hand. With a thought Castiel is in front of Crowley, pushing the blade to his throat. The King of Hell’s smirk never falters, which only infuriates Castiel more.

  “Cas!” Sam yells behind him, grabbing his shoulder trying to push him back.

  “From the very beginning you have been the cause to all of this!” Castiel hisses, pushing the blade harder against Crowley’s throat. “Don’t ever think for a second I will not remember that.” He slides his blade across the Kings neck, enjoying the hiss that escapes the demons lips. “From stealing my grace to the Mark on Dean’s arm, and where we stand presently. That is all on you.” Castiel points the tip of his blade at Crowley scowling at him. “And I will have my revenge.”

  He turns away from the demon, raising an eyebrow at Sam blocking his way. “We need him to help _Dean_. My brother.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, looking at the ceiling. “I get it. Everything has been a shit show over these past few months. Trust me, I was there. It’s been hell.” Sam’s hazel eyes look back down at him almost pleading. Castiel feels his body involuntarily twitch at the mention of the past months. “But we finally have a chance here, Cas. I’m not justifying anything that Crowley has done, because what happened to you was…” Sam shakes his head and casting a glare at Crowley. “But if you could put your issues aside for more than a few seconds and look at the bigger picture you’d see we need this bastard to help save Dean.”

  Castiel opens his mouth to reply, but voices suddenly fill his head. It’s been so long since he heard them, save for sister welcoming him back to the Host. But this time, it seems something has them panicked. He stares past Sam, trying to focus on what his brothers and sisters are saying. Finally he picks out his sisters voice that welcomed him back.

  “ _Cain has resurfaced. He has begun killing again_.”

  “ _Where?_ ”

  “ _Everywhere._ ”

  _“Where is he now?_ ”

  “ _Don’t be a fool, Castiel. If legions of angels over the course of centuries cannot bring him to his knees, what do you think you would be able to accomplish?”_

_“I need to find him.”_

_“You’ve only just come back to us. Is your human really worth being lost to Heaven forever? Is he worth dying over?”_

_“I am not going to engage him. I only need to speak to him.”_

_“This is suicide, Castiel. Just come home and we can-“_

_“You know by now Heaven is no longer welcome for me, and I have no want to return. Will you help me?”_

  After a pause of silent static, he thinks his sister has ignored him, he hears a quiet reply. _“Illinois.”_

  “Cas?” Sam waves a hand in front of his face. He blinks, eyes focusing on the room around him, and Sam’s narrowing eyes. “Did you hear anything I said?”

  “Cain is killing, again.” He states, turning away from Sam.

  “What?! How do you even-“

  “Angel radio.” He says staring at Crowley who is leaning back against the wall, staring at the ceiling looking bored. “Did you know?”

  “That the Father of Murder has picked up the habit again like a bad junkie?” He shrugs. “I am the King of Hell, after all.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Sam practically yells from behind him.

  The demon looks over at Sam slowly, and Castiel catches the quick flash of red before they return to normal. “Didn’t seem relevant.”

  “When you heard him say we needed Cain to help figure out a cure for Dean, it would’ve been nice to know he is back to killing again!” Sam yells. “What the hell are we going to do now?”

  “I told you asking him was-“

  “I’m going to speak to Cain.”

  Castiel closes his eyes and focuses his mind on Illinois and the strong pull of death. When he opens them, he’s standing in the middle a clearing, surrounded by a forest, the smell of pine and damp earth filling his nose. All around him are mounds earth scattered about. Some look more freshly formed than others. Just eyeing them, Castiel knows they are graves, but the location seems rather random. He tilts his head, and crouches down to inspect one of the piles.

  Something white is sticking out of the dirt. Castiel brushes some of the dirt away from the object, leaning closer to try and see the item better. It almost looks like a shoe of some sort. He grabs the shoe in question, pulling it free from the earth, and turns it over in his hands. It is defiantly a shoe; a white, slip on shoe, but it has letters on the bottom of it. Letters that mean whomever wore it was an inmate of some sort.

  His cell phone begins ringing, shattering the silence around him. It quickly hits him that it is very quiet. Almost too quiet. He is out in the middle of the woods, so why hasn’t he heard any birds? Or any other sound of any other animal. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he answers it, eyes searching the trees around him.

  “Cas, seriously you have to stop just leaving like that.” Sam huffs over the phone.

  “Listening to you and Crowley talk in circles was getting tedious.” Castiel glances around the trees one last time, ears trying to pick up any sound.

  “We just keep jumping into these situations without thinking things through.” Sam sighs and Castiel can almost hear the frustration laced into his words. “It’s the jumping that’s drowning us, Cas. In-between what Dean did and you…You just got whole again less than a few hours ago, and you keep flying away without much of a goodbye, or where you’re going.”

  “I don’t need your permission to leave.” Castiel dips his voice lower, gripping his phone tighter to the side of his head.

  “No, you clearly don’t. And I’m not saying you _need_ permission, but simply telling us where you’re going would be a nice little warning.” Sam sighs over the phone. “But what I’m saying is we have no idea _why_ or _who_ Cain is killing. We have no idea why after all this time he is back at it again.”

  “I did tell you where I was going.” Castiel replies, looking down at the shoe in his hand. “Just because Cain is killing again does not make him some bloodthirsty monster like he was. I have enough hope to believe he can hold a conversation without it turning into something more.”

  “All I’m saying is we need to figure this out before we go flying in blind.” Sam states.

  “Like you and Crowley wanted to attempt with Dean?” Castiel asks, looking up to see Cain standing a few feet away from him.

  “That isn’t-“

  “I have to go, Sam. I will call you back.”

  “Hello Castiel.” Cain says, staring intently at him.

  “What have you done?” Castiel asks, tossing the shoe away. He places his phone back into his coat pocket and stands slowly.

  “Oh, these bodies?” He asks, not breaking his stare. “Just cleaning up a mess I made a long time ago.”

  “Cain.” The name comes out almost desperate, and Castiel pauses a moment trying to steady the sudden human emotion. “I know what you were. But you’ve resisted for so long.”

  “What can I say? I got the taste back.” He replies looking around at the hundreds of bodies buried around them.

  Castiel sucks in a sharp breath, standing up a bit straighter. He has no clue what he expected to hear, but this-what Cain was admitting-was not it.

  Cain locks eyes with him again, face staying uncomfortably void of all emotion. He takes a few steps closer to him, walking mindfully of the buried bodies between them. “With Abaddon’s army gunning for me I was forced to take up arms again.” He shrugs slightly. “I liked how it felt.”

  “Those are demons. These are...” Castiel’s voice comes out too thick to continue.

  He watches Cain crouch down to a grave a few steps away from him, and pick up a teddy bear. Something inside Castiel’s chest painfully clenches, as he watches the man examines the bear with an expressionless face.

  “Humans.” He states, shrugging. “Eh, the Mark thirsts for all kinds.”

  Rage rushes through Castiel at the nonchalance radiating from Cain. Anger and sadness for the child he no doubt killed without a second thought. Anger for the prison inmate whose shoe he was holding only moments ago. All of these people who never had any chance to fulfill their futures and purpose. It was all taken from them because Cain felt the need to kill humans? Innocent children?

  Abaddon’s army he could understand. Demons bound to their fallen leader, suddenly left with no one to pick up the slack of rebellion. Angry that at the Knight of Hell who started it all and then vanishing, then reappearing again yet unwilling to lead them. All the demons must want is bloodshed and revenge for knocking their purposes off balance. They had given up their allegiance to the King of Hell in hopes of a new hell on earth, not confined to games, laws and shadows anymore. But betrayal is something that cannot ever be forgiven in hell. There is neither patience, nor time. Abaddon’s followers have damned themselves once again. They are only left with the choice to hide, knowing someone eventually will find them; or to join together, and attack hoping someone might get lucky enough to land a hit.

“This is a massacre.” Castiel voice comes out guttural as he glares down at the demon.

  Cain stands slowly, tossing the bear aside. He raises an eyebrow at Castiel as amusement passes over his face quickly to disappear. “Yes. Soon it will be a genocide. My children, my whole poisoned issue.” He walks closer to Castiel, voice cryptically low. “A lot of them out there right now. Killers, fighters, rapists, thieves…” He tilts his head, shrugging again. “Some more peaceful than others but they still carry it-the disease. If the Mark wants blood, I’ll give it mine.”

  “You’ll kill them all? Mother, daughter, son, father? The most innocent babe to the thief of a father?” Castiel tightens his fingers into fists and steps closer to Cain. “You were Adam and Eves first born. Your descendants are legion.”

  He rolls his eyes. “At most I’m culling…” Tipping his head back he thinks for a moment, “One and ten.”

  Castiel opens his mouth, and closes it again. He knows he already knows the answer, but something inside him needs to hear it out loud. “Of everyone?”

  “I’ve got time.”

  Castiel stares at him, trying to understand what exactly is happening; how exactly things have escalated so out of control. When Cain had been born he was made for such great things. Hundreds of his brothers and sisters watched as he came into this world, awed at his birth even though he was covered in Eve’s bodily fluids. They marveled at this tiny babe who was destined to begin to fix the wrongs of his father and mother. Such innocence with already so much weight on his shoulders to carry out what his parents could not.

  Even after Abele, Lucifer and the Mark, everything became a bit more complicated, but still understandable. But this, after all these years? And children? Cain had never before killed children; at most he just avoided them entirely. There was an unsaid line he had drawn, even centuries ago, and from what Castiel understood, Cain had never before crossed that line.

  What was worse about this whole situation was how Cain didn’t look like he was anything other than calm and in control. He was standing there, seemingly having no issues with an angel in front of him; conversing like you would to any other person. When Dean had first gotten the Mark he was ruled by anger, irritability and the lust for blood. That was the Cain that Castiel had heard about in Heaven. The man standing in front of him was just...void of any and every emotion.

  “How is Dean, by the way?” Cain’s voice suddenly growing softer, the harshness dropping out completely. Castiel hadn’t picked up on the tone until now. “I hear he did well. Took Abaddon down.”

  Castiel looks away from Cain quickly, looking over at the tree line. He doesn’t want to answer this question. Dean shouldn’t even been in this situation to have to pause for an answer. He was Castiel’s responsibly to protect, and he failed. He was too weak to save the one person who had become his whole entire existence and purpose. He had to somehow form this into words and beg for the Father of Murder’s help to cure him.

  He lets his eyes linger over the hundreds of graves between him and the trees, wondering if one day Cain was planning to make Dean apart of his killings. He was a descendent of Cain, worthy enough for the Mark set upon him, but would Cain fulfill his plan and even kill Dean? Would he have to watch his Righteous Man die all over again, or would he die trying to save him even though he was now Dean’s greatest enemy? The thought of Dean being covered in blood again, lying limp in his arms sends a shiver he is unable to control through him. Castiel glances back at Cain, unable to still meet his eyes.

  Cain dips his head trying to catch his gaze. “He’s not well.”

  The ghost of his humanity must still cling to him, because Castiel swears he can feel his heart racing in his chest, and feel his blood is pounding in his ears. He feels lightheaded, but he logically knows that isn’t possible. Simply the thought of Cain knowing what Dean has become is sending Castiel into a panic. Even now that he has his grace back; he would be unable to help Dean against the Father of Murder. Dean wouldn’t even accept his help, period. He wouldn’t want anything to do with him, except kill him. Maybe toy with him first, apparently. He would be more a distraction than a help, and the thought alone twists in Castiel’s gut making him think he’s going to be ill.

  “Dean…He…” Castiel clears his throat, trying to work some of the roughness. He straightens his back, grits his teeth and looks over Cain’s shoulder, still unable to meet his eyes. “I watched Dean die. The Mark brought him back. Dean is losing himself in the Mark. We only need to find a cure-“

  “There is no cure.” Cain states, voice dropping low. “I am living proof of that.”

  “You were not controlled by the desire to kill!” Castiel exclaims, waving his hand in front of him. “This hasn’t been what you’ve been doing for centuries. You stopped! You lived a normal life, not bound to the Blade. If you can do it then Dean can survive this too!”

  Castiel feels the air around him grow heavy as his gaze returns fully to Cain. He swears he can feel energy buzzing between them. The hairs on the back of his neck rise as the energy spikes as the weight of the demons glare narrows.

  “There has to be a cure. There is always a cure.” Castiel pleads, feeling his hands unclench and fall weakly at his side.

  Cain’s lips twitch slightly, as if he is finding something humorous about the whole situation. “In all my centuries of silence, don’t you think the thought ridding this Mark from my body might have crossed my mind? _If_ there was a cure, I would’ve found it, Castiel.”

  “You fought against the pull-“

  “You have to _want_ to.” Each word is spoken with enough emotion Castiel’s eyes lock into Cain’s hard set stare again. “You need a strong enough reason to want to cling to your humanity. You have to be stronger to resist the whispers of the Blade, and the yearning for death burning through your veins.” The heaviness in the air feels like it’s pushing down onto Castiel’s chest, making it uncomfortable to stand still. He takes in a shaky breath out of habit, trying to force the feeling away.  “Every day you have to fight for your hold on humanity. Every day you wake up and wonder if today is the day you won’t be able to resist, and succumb to the Mark.” Cain looks Castiel up and down slowly. “The _itch_ never went away. But I found my reason, for a time.”

  There is something…something hidden in all of the words he speaks that is on the tip of Castiel’s tongue. Something deep mixed with so much pain that he is almost afraid of pushing any further; fearing it might be the snapping point into Cain slipping back into the man Castiel has heard stories of.

  “There is still hope for Dean to find himself, again.” Castiel argues. “We can remind him of his humanity, and give him something to hold onto.”

  “I admire your devotion.” A slight smile ghosts over Cain’s lips, disappearing as quickly as the last. “Still, I wouldn’t worry about Dean. I’ll get to him in due time.”

  Truly having knowledge that Dean is on Cain’s list, Castiel flicks his wrist, letting his angel blade slide into his hand. He narrows his eyes at the Father of Murder, bracing himself for any form of retaliation against his action. Cain’s stare never wavers, nor does he flinch. Castiel begins to raise his blade slowly, watching as Cain’s eyes, now, drop to the blade.

  “Sorry Castiel.” He says. “You’re not on my list.”

  He stares at the empty place where Cain was standing just seconds before, blinking slowly. He briefly glances around the area, lowering his blade after sensing no one near. The conversation with Cain replays in his mind, as he tightens his grip on the smooth handle of his blade. Castiel feels a tingle from his grace that helps make up his blade pulsing underneath his hand, trying to soothe his pain away.

   There is no cure.

  If Cain had not found a means to rid himself of the Mark by now, then it must be true. Years-centuries- of knowledge and searching, and coming up with nothing? It amazing that Cain had fought the urge for blood off this long. Still, Cain was civilized enough to have a coherent conversation. He has a plan and isn’t murdering blindly. Was that just because he doesn’t hold the Blade? Or because he relinquished the Mark to Dean?

  Castiel puts his blade away and gives one last look around the area. His eyes land on the teddy bear covered in dirt and dried flakes of blood he hasn’t noticed till now. The scratched, blank button eyes stare back at him. Castiel shivers at the morbid feeling creeping under his skin.

  His cell phone starts buzzing in his pocket, again, and Castiel breaks his stare away from the bear, fishing it out. The caller id reads Sam’s name. If he answers, he is going to have to tell the younger brother why he let him go so suddenly. That conversation will lead to the truth, and Sam will know there is no cure for Dean. It all comes down to him and failing to keep the one human he swore to protect, safe. Sam may say differently, but he knows the brother will never be able to forgive him for letting his brother die.

  Castiel’s finger hovers over the answer button until the buzzing stops and the screen goes black. Regardless of hearing there is no cure, he knows Sam-the Winchester’s- well enough to know the man would still try to go about trying to save Dean the regular ways. The Winchesters were nothing but stubborn when it came to saving each other. Either he would have to help the younger brother, or Sam would go about trying to capture Dean and doing it himself; either way probably getting himself killed in the process.

  Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he knows what he has to do. If Cain had stopped, even for just a time, Dean has the ability to stop. Cain had said that Dean had to _want_ to stop. He just needs to give Dean’s humanity something to cling to-a reminder of what it was like to _feel_. He has to at least try. Castiel refuses to return to Sam with anything less than he tried the impossible.

  The Dean he knows and loves has to be in there, somewhere. He will just have to find a way to pull it out and to make him feel again. He has failed the brothers so much, Castiel refuses to fail again. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he would never be able to truly harm Dean if it came down to it. The mere thought makes his stomach tighten, painfully.

  Letting out a slow breath, Castiel closes his eyes and attempts to calm his mind. He focuses only on the humming of his grace swirling inside him. He takes in another shallow breath, stretching his wings wide. Letting out the breath, he takes off, following the faint pull and flicker of his grace inside his Righteous Man.

  The first thing Castiel notices is the smell. Burning rubber. He wrinkles his nose, opening his eyes, searching for the source of the odor. The noise comes next as he focuses in on the chaos around him. People are screaming somewhere around him, gunshots being fired, babies crying, children sobbing for their mothers. It is all slightly distant, but the abrupt change in volume has him covering his ears.

  Next he notices the heat. It’s an extreme wetness, humid, and not just from the fires around him. It is the kind of heat that creeps into your lungs with heaviness and makes you feel like you’re drowning on your own breath.

  Castiel turns slowly around, trying to take it all in and gather his bearings. From what he can tell, he is in Honduras. It has been awhile since he’s been here, and even with the rubble everywhere, he can make out certain landmarks he remembers.

  Of all places, why here? It is hundreds of miles away from the boarder, and thousands of miles away from where they started. He squints his eyes at the darkness of night around him, and shifts his feet on the pitiful excuse for a road. Tires that are lit on fire are scattered throughout the torn up road, giving the warlike scene a more morbid look. Somewhere not too far off he hears another round of gunshots going off, and he shifts uncomfortably as his shirt begins to stick to his body.

  Castiel pushes away the thought to why exactly his grace isn’t working properly to maintain his body temperature, and tries to catch up on what he’s seeing and hearing. The cries echoing throughout the darkness are so raw he tries hard to push away what is really happening. Deep inside his mind, he knows what is happening; hundreds of families trying to escape gangs, violence, and drug lords. The people are being picked off slowly through their journey to the boarder, and even when they get there, they will be lucky to find anything more welcoming than what they are experiencing now.

  His Father knew this would happen, eventually. It makes being here that much more painful. Even if he could attempt to heal or save some of these people, the ones chasing them would catch up and finish the job. Castiel’s thoughts are interrupted by a loud bang of a door. He turns to the noise, watching a woman stumble out of a rundown house in front of him. She runs past him, limping with only one shoe on, holding her bloodied arm. The hairs on the back of Castiel’s neck prickles as he squints at the shadows from where the woman just ran from. They seem to move and shift on their own accord, taking different forms. He pulls on the collar of his shirt, licking his chapped lips as a bead of sweat runs down his temple. He tells himself it’s just the firelight, and tries to pull on his grace to cool his vessel.

  “Castiel.” A honeyed voice, purrs.

  Castiel turns his head to the sound of the voice he memorized years ago, watching as his Righteous Man walks out of the dancing shadows of the house. He feels the faint flicker of his grace that Dean carries calling out for him. He bites his lip holding back a gasp at the intensity of the longing. A twisted looking smirk is plastered across his face, reminding Castiel of what he truly is. The flames flickering from one of the closest fires throws Dean’s face in distorted angles. In the lightening Castiel isn’t sure if his eyes are black or not.

  “Dean.” Castiel breathes, forcing himself to keep his feet still and planted to the ground.

  “I just can’t seem to get rid of you, can I?” Dean asks, raising the Blade and picking off something from the teeth. “I come all this way to get away from you, and still, here you are.”

  “I needed to find you. There might be a way to still fix this.” He glances down the empty street quickly. “Why are you here?”

  The demon tips his head back in a deep laugh. Castiel ignores the pain prickling throughout his chest, standing up a bit straighter. “Fix this?” Dean chuckles. “Are we forgetting how everything worked out the first time anyone tried to fix something?”

  “That was-“

  “Oh no, my bad!” Dean hits the side of his head with the heel of his hand. “You were a pathetic, weak, poor excuse of a human.” A slow, menacing smile spreads over his lips as he takes a few steps closer to the street. “You were so fucked up over that shifter fucking you, you weren’t thinking clearly. Am I close?”

  Castiel’s jaw twitches as he grits his teeth, reminding himself that this isn’t Dean talking. It is the Mark controlling and transforming him into a bloodthirsty Knight of Hell. All demons lie, taunt, and prod to get their prey or enemies riled up to catch the off guard.

  “Why not Honduras?” He waves his hand around. “This place is chaos. Screw needing demons to rein evil down, people are doing a pretty fucking bang up job on their own. These people have so much violence and hate inside them, no one would think twice about another body turning up.” Dean sighs dramatically. “And still you found me.”

  His eyes follow Dean as he walks off to the side of him, slowly circling. His fingers go back to picking at the teeth of the Blade with his fingernails, looking bored with the whole thing. Castiel knows it’s just an act, trying to lower his defenses so the thinks he’s safe. Castiel watches Dean’s body language, making sure he isn’t about ready to react.

  “You’re not so human anymore, I see.” He taps the Blade on his chin thoughtfully. “Guess Crowley came crawling back to you, offering up your grace, huh? I’m honored, really.”

  “Crowley knew what needed to be done.” Castiel replies. “This isn’t you, Dean.”

  Dean stops walking and tilts his head at him. “Sorry to disappoint you, but this is me.” The firelight dances over Dean’s face illuminating it just enough for him to make out a streak of blood smeared across his cheek. He wonders if the blood is the woman’s who was running from the house seconds ago. Why did he leave her living?

  The shadows play with Dean’s features, making them seem more jagged and defined. A shudder shakes his body, and Castiel has to remind himself that it is just the fire. The Mark cannot change a person’s image. Dean’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “It’s who I’ve always been. I’m just not trapped in the pit this time.”

  “You know that isn’t true. You aren’t this.” Castiel waves his hand in front of him at Dean’s body. “You aren’t some monster who thrives on murder and bloodshed.” He shakes his head, looking his body up and down. “We-Sam and I-we can still help you. We can-“

  “Are we really going to have a repeat of our last conversation?” Dean crosses his arms, an amused smile pulling at his lips. “You don’t know what I’ve done. Who I am now.”

  “I saw your soul burning through the darkness of hell, and recreated every atom inside your body. I am been inside your mind, walked through your dreams beside you.” Castiel takes a deep breath, focusing on his grace still inside Dean. It seems farther away, somehow, but still gives him relief that it’s still there. “I know you better than you anyone could ever imagine, even yourself.”

  “I’ve killed families.” Dean states while tucking the Blade away behind him somewhere.

  Castiel eyes him for a moment, and then shakes his head. Whatever he has done, it wasn’t him, not really. “I don’t care. That isn’t you, that is the Mark making you do those things.”

  “You don’t care that I’ve killed children?” He taunts, stepping closer. “Mothers? Fathers? People who just happened to be around when I got bored? And I get bored a lot.”

  “The Mark is…changing you to fit its need-It’s want.” Castiel grips his hands into fists trying to keep his voice even. “The Dean Winchester I know would never harm a child willingly. I know he is still in there, and I will save him.”

  Dean shrugs slightly stepping closer to him. “That Dean’s always been kind of a buzz kill. Never letting himself enjoy the simple pleasures in life…the ones he really _craves_.”

  The distance between them is so slight, Castiel isn’t quite sure how they ended up so close. The air around them feels charged, and he licks his lips out of habit, tasting their energy on his tongue. He swallows thickly, watching Dean’s eyes drop down to his lips. Taking in a shallow breath he watches the man drag his own tongue across his bottom lip, slowly.

  Castiel has no idea what is going on with grace other than the fact it doesn’t feel like he is quite whole. The way his body is reacting to Dean’s eyes slowly climbing up his face sends a wave of heat over his skin. The closeness of their bodies, mixed with the already hot air must be the reason his vessel react to the man in front of him.  Castiel pushes down the remaining thoughts of _why_ his grace isn’t working properly. The yearning to close the distance between him and Dean startles him enough he hasn’t noticed his hand twitching towards Dean’s. He jerks it back, mentally shaking his head trying to clear it. He shouldn’t be thinking these things, not right now.

  Something about this moment, though, almost seems like Dean-his Dean- is really here. Castiel truly wants to believe he really is fighting and wants to be saved. It makes everything seem like Sam and him are not fighting a losing battle.

  “I won’t let you lose yourself killing anyone and everyone you come across.” Castiel whispers. “The pleasure you feel from the kill isn’t real. This isn’t you.”

  Castiel feels Dean’s knuckle underneath his chin raising his face up. The feeling of his skin on his own sends a shiver through his body, and a shaky breath escapes past his lips. His eyes lock with those deep, summer green eyes, and for a moment he swears he can actually feel his Dean looking back at him.

  “You’re wrong, ya know?” Dean whispers, his warm breath falling over Castiel’s lips. “Do you know anything about pleasure, angel?”

  He wants to reply, explaining that he does, of course he does, you don’t live a millennia of time without enjoying something. But Dean hasn’t moved his finger from underneath his chin. The warmth radiating from the touch is causing his whole body to ignite with some unseen fire underneath his skin. Their lips are just barely a breath away from each other, and Castiel can’t quite remember him or Dean moving to be this close to each other.

  The voice inside Castiel is reminding him that Dean isn’t really himself. He is truly trying to latch onto that. He tries to come up with some way to process everything, or something to say to snap him out of this, but he’s having trouble forming proper words. Out of everything that could have happened, the gentle touch is something he least expected, and he isn’t sure how to react. Castiel thought he’d never feel this again, though the touches before were always brief and far and between, it was always a possibility. After months of absolute hell, Castiel hasn’t realized how badly he was starving for something so simple.

  He tries again to gather his words, to maybe ask what he’s wrong about-anything- but slowly Dean’s fingers spread across the back of his neck. Castiel doesn’t even fight his body leaning into the man’s palm. He struggles to fight back the urge to moan at how amazing it feels just to be _touched_.

  “I know you’ve felt it. The energy running through your body, enhancing every single touch and feeling. Your breath comes out short, as you anticipate what might happen next. Your skin tingles with every sensation, and you _crave_ just a little bit more. You’re right on the edge, feeling it building…” Castiel lets his eyes fall shut as Dean runs his hand through the back of his hair, his fingernails scrapping his over his scalp softly. Somewhere inside his head he is screaming that this is wrong, everything about it is wrong.

  Castiel’s eyes shoot open as Dean’s lips brush over his earlobe. He is very aware of Dean’s other hand on the small of his back, pushing them closer together. He is painfully aware at how warm and solid Dean is against him. _Real_.

  “Pleasure is giving yourself over to any and all urges, and just…” Castiel gasps a short breath as he feels a sharp pain from Dean’s teeth sinking his earlobe. The man sucks on it for a moment, and then licks along the outer edge to the tip. “Letting yourself go.”

  Dean’s fingers dip in and grip tightly in Castiel’s hair, it is borderline painful. Some dark part of himself loves it, but he shoves away he thought quickly. He bites his lip to suppress a moan as Dean closes his lips around where he bit, sucking on it again. The quick but steady flicks from the tip of Dean’s tongue are making his body react without his consent. No matter how wrong and unsafe it might be, in this moment, he could care less.

  A gunshot goes off followed by the sounds of glass breaking somewhere closer than the last few times. Castiel snaps out of whatever trance he has been in, body tensing. He tries to pull back from Dean, hissing against the hold Dean still has in his hair. Dean pulls Castiel’s face close to his, again, and chuckles, eyes reflecting the fires around him.

  “Let me go.” Castiel growls. He attempts trying to turn his body to grab Dean’s hand still locked in his hair, but can’t quite reach. “Dean, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Something tells me that isn’t gunna be a problem.” Dean replies, smirking down at him.

  Castiel searches his eyes, trying to search for something telling him Dean isn’t as far gone as he’s letting on. He watches as his eyes blink and come back oily black. Gripping tightly to Dean’s wrist, he twists and spins himself out of his grip. Dean laughs as his fist lands across Castiel’s face.

  The next hit he can anticipate, and blocks the other fist aimed for his face. Dean grabs his arm, twisting it until Castiel feels something in his elbow pop. He hisses as a wave of pain hits him before his grace can react to healing it. Another hit catches him in his chest, and he stumbles backwards a few feet.

  Castiel grits his teeth as he watches Dean pull out the Blade from behind him. The demon smiles, quickly raising it and bringing it down in one smooth motion. Castiel jumps back, the teeth of the Blade just barely missing him. Grabbing his hand, Castiel yanks it closer to him. He pulls on his grace, and slams his free elbow down on Dean’s wrist. Dean drops the Blade, snarling in pain. Castiel awkwardly kicks the Blade away from them, shoving Dean away in the process.

  They glare at each other for just a moment before Dean is right back in front of him again. He grabs the lapels of Castiel’s coat, and tosses him to the side like he weighs nothing. Castiel hits something hot, and arches his back the explosion of heat licking at his flesh. He shoves himself off the ground, and appears back in front of Dean who is seconds away from grabbing the Blade.

  Castiel catches Dean’s fist right before it hits his face, but misses the second that connects with his gut. He grunts and pushes Dean away from him as much as he can. He can feel his grace straining to keep up with all the contact and flying. Letting out a growl of frustration, he steps back, the back of his foot knocking into the Blade still laying beneath him.

  Castiel slides out his angel blade, narrowing his eyes at Dean. “Dean, stop.”

  Dean disappears in front of Castiel, and before he has time to turn around something very solid slams down on his right arm, and his blade clatters to the ground. Hands grab his shoulders, and Dean’s knee slams into his stomach. Castiel raises his arm, only practically protecting his face as another hit knocks into the side. Before he can manage to stand upright, Dean brings his elbow around, slamming into the opposite side of his face.

  Castiel feels himself being thrown again, but this time his body hits the hard, rocky road. He slides a few feet until his momentum stops. He feels everything inside him that’s been damaged, and lets out a groan at the throbbing pain. His grace is healing him, but more slowly than it ever has before. He pushes himself up off the ground, wincing as his injuries scream at him to stay still.

  Dean doesn’t break his eyesight away from him as Castiel watches him bend down and grab his angel blade, instead of his Blade. Castiel stands straighter, hand held out in front of him like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. He glances briefly around for anyone-anything- that he might be able to use.

  “Dean…” Castiel’s eyes dart back from his blade held in Dean’s hand to the man’s face.

  “What’s the matter? Being human all those months make you forget how to fight? Or have you really been this pathetic the whole time?” Dean twirls the blade in his hand. “Some Angel of the Lord you are. Bet Heaven rejoiced after you left.”

  “Stop. Just…stop.” Castiel eyes his blade wearily.

  Dean laughs, eyes blinking and blackness fading away. “How’s it feel to always fuck everything up wherever you go? I bet a real angel wouldn’t lose their blade so easily in a fight.” He tilts his head at him, stilling the movements of the blade. “Is that some angelic talent you have? Always letting people down? Letting those you say you care about _die_? The ability to make anyone’s life you’re around complete shit?”

  Castiel bites down on his tongue hard enough to taste blood. His head is spinning with all the possible ways to disarm Dean and win this. In reality, it would be fairly easy. Dean may be strong, but he lacks the skill of centuries of battles. But this isn’t Dean. This is the Mark talking, trying to get into his head and bring out his weakness. He knows he will never be able to kill him, but if he wants to live, he needs to overpower him. He tightens his hands into fists, takeing a cautious step closer to Dean.

  “You should’ve done the world a favor and died.” Dean taps the hilt of the blade to his temple, nodding back at him. “Least that’s what Dean thinks.”

  “That’s…” His voice breaks, and he clears it trying to spare a minute to get his thoughts under control. “I’m not going to hurt, Dean. Not if it can be helped.”

  “Seriously? Afraid you’re going to hurt _me_?” He barks out a laugh that seems to echo down the empty street.”You can barely stand up straight! That’s adorable!”

  “You’re not him!” Castiel yells, watching the darkness around Dean flicker in and out. The pull of his grace tingles against his palm, begging to be used against whoever has angered him. He squeezes his fist, digging his nails into his hand, trying to push it away.

  Dean hums, going back to twirling the blade. “Oh, I’m pretty sure I’m him, alright. And I am really bored with this whole thing.”

  Just as Dean disappears, Castiel turns around anticipating Dean to appear behind him. The demon doesn’t even look phased to see Castiel looking at him, and slams the end of his blade against Castiel’s face. Castiel’s vision blurs slightly, but throws his own body forward, forcing Dean to fall over backwards.

  He grabs Dean’s hand holding his blade, and slams it down on the ground. His grip doesn’t even slip; instead Dean’s body vibrates underneath his with laughter. Frustration builds up inside Castiel. It’s hot, humiliating, and he wants to scream at his own stupidity for even having caused everything to end up here, to this moment. Under him, he feels Dean’s laughter dying down, and his body tensing to attack.

  Castiel looks down at the man he’s being trying to save for months, but only sees some distorted, twisted image in his place. He focuses on that, and pulls at all his grace not being used for injuries. His eyes must be glowing from his power, because the laughter has abruptly stopped. He looks down at the man under him, and watches as Dean’s Dean’s lips twitch into a scowl. The demon tries to push Castiel off, but he hardly even registers the touch, remaining unmoved.

  Something wet drips off the tip of Castiel’s nose onto Dean lying beneath him. He feels another trickle running down the side of his face. Sweat. He is sweating. Castiel grabs Dean’s wrist as he tries to focus and pull more grace to use. A sharp pinprick of pain starts spreading throughout his chest as he begins to pry Dean’s fingers from it. Dean tries to wrap his fingers back around the blade, but Castiel catches them and breaks each one for good measure. The man hisses and thrashes his body as he places the blade against Dean’s throat.

  “Thought you weren’t going to hurt me?” He snarls.

  “Listen to me, Dean. I know you’re in there.” Castiel says, pushing the blade underneath his chin. “You need to fight this. You are stronger than this.”

  A deep chuckle builds up from the man underneath him. “That’s your big finishing move?” Dean lifts his head forward, pushing against the blade. He smiles up at Castiel with that same twisted smirk, and blinks, eyes shifting to black again. “You can do better than that.”

  Castiel leans in closer, putting more weight to push down on the blade. “Right this very moment, Sam is searching for a way to bring you back. I’ll say it again as much as I have to; this person the Mark has turned you into, isn’t who you truly are. We know who you are.” Dean’s black eyes narrow up at him. “One day there will come a time where everyone you’ve ever known and loved is gone. Everyone but me, and I’ll be standing here, watching you murder the world. And even then I won’t have given up on you. Even then I will be searching for a way to ride you of this Godforsaken Mark. That’s what you taught me. You don’t give up on people you care about.”

  Castiel loosens his grip, just for a moment, but enough time for Dean to knock his hand away. The demon bucks his hips enough to jostle Castiel and knock him to the ground. Castiel lets out a frustrated growl at his own stupidity in letting his guard down. Dean is on him before he can even lift his body from the ground, grabbing a fist full of his hair and slamming his head back on the ground. Once. Twice. Three times, before he tosses him aside like a rag doll.

  His head spins and throbs momentarily, before his grace slowly steadies his vision again. The pain lingers, only barely. Castiel’s mouth tastes like copper and his tongue feels thick and gritty from the dust and dirt from the road. He shakily pushes himself to his feet, and spits out a mouthful of the disgusting mixture. Dean stands across from him, eyeing him with black eyes, all smugness gone from his expression.

  Castiel raises his hand trying to pull on his grace again just as Dean disappears. A violent tug has Castiel thrown across the road, into what feels like a brick wall. Black stars dance in front of his vision, as he feels Dean’s heavy body straddling his hips. Castiel’s ears ring as blow after blow knocks his head back and forth violently. He brings his arms up in a pathetic attempt to stop the strikes, but Dean snarls and yanks Castiel’s arms back down beside his body. Castiel hisses as Dean kneels on his hands, digging his knees into his fingers.

  His face feels twice as big as it should be, and the only taste in his mouth is blood. His grace is spreading even more slowly over the damage, and he lets out another yell in frustration. Castiel wonders if maybe he should just stop it. If he is being honest with himself, he doesn’t deserve to be healed after everything he’s caused.

  An unexpected cough escapes, pushing out some of the blood with it. Castiel searches inside himself for the warmth of his grace, only finding a dull glimmer. He grips onto it tightly as he forces another cough. He feels the warm liquid trickling down his chin as he as his vision becomes slightly clearer. A flash of silver catches his eye, and his sight sharpens on his angel blade being raised above his head.

  Castiel tries to tug his hands free as Dean pushes down more weight. He watches as Dean’s face falls completely blank. Castiel lets out a mix between a scream and a grunt, yanking his right hand out from under Dean’s knee, just as his own blade comes speeding towards his chest. He grabs Dean’s hand wrapped tightly around the hilt, stopping the blade, just barely.

  His arm begins to shake against the man’s strength, as he pants for air. “Dean…” Castiel’s voice comes out strained. He looks up into his black eyes, and squeezes the man’s fist. “Please.”

  The black eyes stare into him for just a moment, and then Castiel’s hand is shaken away. He knows he won’t be able to stop Dean again. His body is beyond exhausted, and his grace feels like it did before he lost it all. All the adrenaline that had been fueling him is fading away as he watches Dean’s eyes squeeze shut and his own angel blade is raised over his body again. Castiel has just a second to suck in a breath before the reality of the situation falls heavily on his chest.

  A part of him wishes he could see the green of his Righteous Man’s eyes one last time before he dies. He thinks, wherever he is going next, he would like to remember the unearthly green that lies within the man. He wishes a lot of things, as he feels his hand fall limply to his side, half unwilling, half unable to fight back. After all his years of trying to defend and protect his human, his charge, his Righteous Man, he is finally going to be killed by those hands. Maybe, he hopes, that will be enough to bring him back.

  A shrill sound of metal against something solid pierces his left ear, and he lolls his head to the side to see his angel blade sticking out of the rocky earth beside him. Castiel blinks numbly at the silver shining in the firelight, and slowly turns back to the body still on top of his.

  Dean is panting heavily above him, bright green eyes locked onto the blade still tightly gripped in his hands. Castiel stares at him, trying to understand what just happened. Dean slowly untangles his fingers from the blade, and pushes himself off Castiel. His green eyes lock with his for just a breath before he vanishes. Castiel knows that the image of those pained, sorrowful filled green eyes is burned inside his mind until forever ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos give me a high, let me know what you think! ^_^

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments give me a high! Let me know what you think.


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